


Hope is a Many Feathered Thing

by crimsnclover



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 90s Nostalgia, Abandonment, Blow Jobs, Draco has a therapist, Drinking to Cope, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Gay Sex, Gradual Deflowering, Gratuitous Wanking, Hand Jobs, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hermione is my Yoda, Historical References, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Muggle pop culture references, Multi, My First Work in This Fandom, Nostalgia for a New Millennium, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Harry Potter, Post-War, Pottymouth Ginny, Psychological Trauma, Washed Up Harry, attempted Britishisms by a non-Brit, fashion snobbery, general Drarriness, slow burn maybe?, the obligatory shared broom ride
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-19 09:41:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29748597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsnclover/pseuds/crimsnclover
Summary: My first attempt at posting a fan work, here goes! All characters and canonical details of course belong to J.K. Rowling.Draco Malfoy is living as a Muggle for a year, in the process of restoring his family’s honor so they can enter respectable Wizarding society again. He works part-time at a London bookshop by day, seeking out short-term satisfaction among Muggles at night. One day he runs into Harry Potter, who has also deliberately immersed himself in the Muggle world after crashing and burning as a celebrity Auror. Harry is surprised to learn that Draco is gay, but quickly adapts to their new friendship. Mishaps ensue, boundaries are tested, and the dark side of fame is revealed.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Original Male Character(s), Ginny Weasley/Original Character(s), Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 11
Kudos: 17





	1. In which there is much Exposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You will notice right away that Draco is called by a different surname, which will be explained in a later chapter, although the reason may become obvious as we go along. Also, not surprisingly, Draco has attitude problems.

“Tell me something helpful you did this week, Mr. Macavoy.”

Draco turned his head back from the window, blindsided by the question. Somewhere in the past few minutes his mind had drifted away from him, seeking liberty in the blue sky outside the cozy room where his compulsory Muggle therapist had set up camp. Not for the first time, he wished that he could spell the room to expand, perhaps add a potted plant or two, spark up some flames in the closed off fireplace.

He cleared his throat. “Well. I helped some Muggles find a book about haunted London.”

His therapist looked at him with puzzlement. “I’m sorry. Did you say… Muggles?”

Draco cursed himself mentally. It was the first time he had let the word slip, despite the fact that he had been living among Muggles for the better part of the past year. He contemplated casting a quick Memory Modification spell at the end of their session, but took refuge in falsehood instead, as he wasn’t about to break the terms of his Muggle immersion contract so soon. “Yes, it’s a word I made up. For ordinary people.”

She nodded, made a note, and fixed him again with her gaze. “And do you feel that you yourself are not one of them?”

“Er. I, well, I don’t consider myself completely ordinary, no. But – “

The pause that followed was a little too weighted, and Draco swallowed, feeling stupid. She smiled encouragingly. He cast about for words that would help him to look better in her eyes, without letting go of his deeply ingrained principles.

“I would say, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being ordinary. But I don’t want to be.”

 _Take that, Father._ The thought floated unbidden across his mind, and he frowned at the memories that followed. _And take that, Boy Who Lived._

~*~

At that moment, the Boy Who Lived was trying his very best not to die. Metaphorically, of course. His days of living dangerously were over, at least for now, and he could probably count on one hand the number of times he had engaged in anything that might be mistaken as risky in the past year.

The activity at hand, however, was threatening to match the body count of the Battle of Hogwarts. Why was it that so many Muggle video games insisted on making even the simplest task as dramatic as possible? The arcade manager had said that the games were retro and easy to play, which made Harry think he might have a chance at winning, but he had not counted on the number of flames and gore that came with them.

Fortunately, his wand buzzed at him, and he was able to pause the game on the pretext of answering his phone. Away from prying Muggle eyes, he took out his wand from his jeans and activated the com-spell built into it. Hermione’s face, surrounded by a shimmering green aureole, bloomed before him, and he felt a familiar inner tug of relief at seeing her.

“Hiya Harry,” she greeted him, and he was pleased to note that the circles under her eyes seemed to be less dark, although she still appeared pale and wan to him. The workload this year had not been kind to her. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

Harry shook his head and smiled. “Nah, I’m glad you called. These Muggle video games are killing me.” He cringed as soon as he said it, but she was gracious enough to overlook it. Instead, she huffed in only the way that Hermione could.

“I can’t believe you like that rubbish. If you have to do it at all, why not go with George’s new venture instead and get involved in virtual Wizarding games?”

Harry shrugged. “I dunno. It passes the time, I guess. And it’s a nice break from magic.”

She nodded. Neither one of them could fault the other for taking the path they had, as vast as the differences were between them. After the fall of Lord V, Hermione had returned to her studies with renewed zeal, setting her sights on passing her N.E.W.T.s with flying colors and carving out a place for herself and her interests at the Ministry. Harry, on the other hand, after going through a year of Auror training and working for the Ministry for another year, felt too much pressure to live up to his previous reputation, and had decided to take a break from the Wizarding world, in as gentle a way as possible. He kept in light touch with his closest friends, but the onslaught of heightened renown after defeating the Dark Lord had been too much for him to handle.

He still carried his wand with him out of habit, but for the most part he had returned to living as a Muggle, minus the Dursleys and the cupboard under the stairs. Instead, he now lived in a cupboard at the top of the stairs, a third-floor loft that could barely be called a flat, it was so tiny and utilitarian. But, it was in the heart of London, and allowed him to take refuge from the downside of being a Wizard and a celebrity. It was a temporary reprieve, he told himself and his closest friends. But so far, he was not missing the Wizarding world much at all.

Except, of course, for flying. He snuck out at night sometimes, broom in hand, endowing his glasses with night vision if he had trouble seeing. Sometimes he made a game of it, practicing his stealth skills by flying into areas where he could very easily be spotted. Other nights, he chose instead to Apparate to the countryside, and flew over quiet hills and lakes shimmering with stars. Those were the times he still felt happy that he was a Wizard.

As if she had heard his thoughts, Hermione asked how the night flying was going. She and Ginny were the only ones who knew about it, although Harry had toyed with the idea of telling Ron. But he always stopped at the thought of how hurt Ron might be, that he went flying without him. Ron’s current side gig, on top of working part-time for the Ministry, was as an advisor to a company that designed brooms and provided equipment to professional Quidditch teams. The opportunity had opened up for him after Ginny joined the Holyhead Harpies and turned Weasley into a household name.

Ginny still occupied a tender place in his heart, even after the dissolution of the relationship they had enjoyed for a few years. She was the one who had helped him the most with supporting his decision to withdraw from the Wizarding world, after seeing what a deleterious effect celebrity had upon him. Joyful celebrations with close friends had devolved into crowds of sycophants and hungry tabloid writers jostling for attention from the Boy Who not only had Lived, but had led into victory an epic revolt against the greatest villain of their lifetime.

After he reached drinking age, Harry knew it was time to change course when he found himself waking up in unfamiliar locations, sometimes public, sometimes private, in which he was sometimes clothed, sometimes not. Ginny didn’t know how bad it was at first, but by time she found out, while in the midst of adjusting to her own skyrocketing career, Harry was already planning out his recovery, in the form of deliberate re-immersion into the Muggle world and removal of all substance abuse from his lifestyle. He had found his flat through Muggle means and had all but moved in by time she realized that he was serious about taking a break from his life, and Godric bless her, she was understanding of his decision. His stealth, however, had cost them their relationship. Thank goodness it hadn’t cost their friendship.

Nor Hermione’s, nor Ron’s, for that matter. The Weasleys were still in shock from first losing Fred, then weathering Ginny’s quick ascent to stardom and George’s phenomenal success with the joke shop, and didn’t really have the bandwidth to quibble with Harry’s decisions, poor as they might be. Hermione had stepped up to fill the gaps in emotional support that both Ron and Harry needed, but given the heavy load of her roles at work and as the founder of S.P.E.W., it had taken its toll. Harry had eventually insisted that they only check in once a week, after Hermione had finished tending to her own needs. By now it felt like second nature, a reliable punctuation to the end of the week.

Today’s conversation took a somber turn when Hermione broke the news about a terrorist attack across the pond, in New York City. “It was Muggle-related,” she reassured him, “although that doesn’t really make it any less horrible.”

Harry shook his head. “Yeah, just because we defeated the Dark Lord doesn’t mean that stupid, violent things don’t keep happening. I half expect Parliament to go up in flames one of these days.”

They ended the conversation shortly thereafter, with Harry sending his love to Ron as always. “Tell him to spell me, if he ever has a moment. I know he’s been super busy with preparing for the World Cup next summer and all.”

Besides checking in with Hermione, and night flying, and seeking out various Muggle forms of entertainment that didn’t involve much human interaction, Harry’s life was simple. Too simple. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to start anything new that might get his life moving again. He had lost the Gryffindor Seeker’s spirit that had once led him into all sorts of trouble, both good and bad, and was on the way to becoming a Boy Who Coasted, nothing more.

~*~

Draco was looking for trouble. Problem was, he had forgotten how to find it. Or not so much forgotten, as run out of options for trouble to find him. Life under restrictive Muggle immersion terms had become tremendously boring, as much as he tried to find ways to spice it up without using magic. The nightlife had proved interesting for a while, and Draco had no shortage of steamy encounters to flip through mentally. Muggles were surprisingly easy to connect with when it came to lust. Draco was well aware that he pleased the eyes of both men and women, but generally gravitated toward men when he wanted to scratch an itch. After a drink or two, he was perfectly willing to abandon any residual squeamishness about people who were not Purebloods.

Consider the itch well scratched. But he couldn’t help thinking to himself, as he sat in the kitchen with his habitual morning mug of Earl Grey, that there had to be more to life than this. More than living in a well-appointed townhouse paid for by his family’s fortune, surrounded by any form of entertainment he desired. More than working occasional afternoon shifts at a Wizard-owned bookshop that pandered to Muggles, which was part of his contract during his immersion experience. More than visiting with his Muggle therapist twice a week, who somehow seemed to be convinced that their sessions were having an effect.

The clock chirped, reminding him that it was a quarter to eleven and time to start dressing for work. Draco stood up slowly and hand-spelled his breakfast tray to float back to the sink, where the auto-wash feature kicked in after Vanishing the remaining scraps of crumpet and blood sausage. The mug remained on the table in the kitchen nook, awaiting its usual second filling. But Draco had had enough, and left it where it was, choosing instead to walk upstairs and begin changing into Muggle clothing. It had been an adjustment, leaving his robes behind and picking out a wardrobe of Muggle fashion with the help of a stylist. In the end though, it had helped to enhance his appeal, and for the first time in his life, Draco actually felt likeable. Not just another power broker in the ruthless rules of the game set by the Pureblood circle he was born into.

“They call it retail therapy for a reason,” Draco said aloud, and smiled to himself.

Forty-five minutes later, impeccably dressed and only slightly late, Draco emerged from the Tube station and began the usual slog to his place of work. It was ironic that of all the places he might have chosen, he ended up a with a bookshop in SoHo run by Wizarding folk with aspirations of promoting unity between Muggles and non-Muggles. The terms of the immersion contract were broad enough that he probably could have finessed his way into something more prestigious, like a law firm or a banking establishment. But the thought of working with people – Muggles – who consistently thought they were better than him was too much for him to stomach. Better to stick to a place where he could still maintain a smidgeon of self-respect, with a boss who was a Wizard. An elderly nutter of a Wizard, but still a person of magical means.

He passed by a gaming arcade and shuddered at the sounds of mayhem floating out through the open door. Honestly, how people could revel in pretend violence so much, was beyond him. He had seen enough of actual violence, inflicted upon others and himself, to last a lifetime, and he was only twenty-one. Gaining the entrance of the bookshop, he was surprised to see a new display set up in the window, featuring brooms, hockey sticks, and books about sports, including Quidditch. Draco could not see the appeal of pushing a flat disc around on ice, but far be it from him to object to spreading the good word about Wizarding sports.

The bell over the door tinkled as he entered, and Draco paused as he breathed in the comforting smell of polished leather and new paper. The bookshop was just posh enough that he could forgive the clientele for being mostly Muggle students, and he was relieved that it had not yet stooped to the level of a Starbucks or other bookstore-café hopefuls that attracted mobs of the caffeine-addled. Give him a good cup of tea anytime, without the fuss of a barista making fancy patterns in his milk.

“Hiya Draco. Wanna give me a hand?” It was Marcus, the friendly Muggle who was under the mistaken impression that Draco was a person who naturally wanted to help people Do Things. Draco did not oblige.

“Sorry Marcus, it’ll have to be someone else. I haven’t clocked in yet.”

He shrugged and turned his head away. “Oi, Lacey! Got any extra brooms in the back you can bring up here?”

Draco left them to their decorating schemes, and sought out the coatrack in the break room. Thank goodness the holidays were not upon them yet, otherwise he would be forced to participate more in the upkeep of the store. Autumn was a few weeks away, and he could still afford to exert the minimum amount of effort at his workplace as the hordes of summer tourists slowed to a trickle. Be that as it may, the day was surprisingly chilly, and he had chosen to wear a light form-fitting jacket in distressed denim that had drawn many admiring glances on the way in. Or maybe they were admiring him in it. Not that he cared just then.

Clocked in with outer layers shed, Draco returned to the main body of the shop. A few customers were browsing the shelves, and Draco did a double-take when he saw a young man with unruly hair and glasses flipping through the books near the Quidditch display. Was it – could it be – Potter? If so, what was he doing in the place like this?

As if on cue, the young man looked up and saw Draco, with no sign of recognition on his face. “Excuse me, do you work here?”

Draco paused, gathering himself. He wasn’t sure if what he felt was more annoyance or curiosity, but in the end curiosity won the battle and he approached the young man, who did indeed appear to be none other than the famous Harry Potter.

“May I help you?”

“This display – who came up with the idea?” Belatedly, Potter looked him full in the face and sputtered to a halt. “Wait a minute – _Malfoy?_ What are you doing here?”

Draco bristled at the tone of incredulity. “I might ask you the same, _Potter_.”

He at least had the grace to look sorry for his rudeness. “Erm, well, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’ve decided to take a break from Wizarding. For the most part. Which is why I’m surprised to find a Quidditch display in the middle of a Muggle neighborhood.”

He swallowed and looked back down at the book in his hand, and Draco took a step forward to look. The page it was opened to had a full-length drawing of Potter on a broomstick, dressed in Quidditch robes. The likeness was close enough, but Draco doubted that any of the customers who came through a shop with a name like Bedknobs and Broomsticks Book Emporium would be likely to believe they were the same person.

He cleared his throat judiciously. “Well, if you must know – and surely you must have heard from the Daily Prophet or some such rubbish – I’m carrying out a magic-free gap year in Muggle immersion, as part of the new Ilvermorny Abroad program. And I work here as part of that agreement.”

Potter whistled. “Blimey, I’d forgotten. But yeah, I do remember seeing something about it in the papers.” He paused a bit too long. “I just didn’t know it would be so close by.”

Draco didn’t ask him to elaborate. “To answer your other question, I’m not sure who set up the display, but I can certainly find out for you.” He turned away but was cut short by Potter’s hand on his arm.

“Don’t bother, I don’t know why I asked. It’s stupid, really, I’ve just gotten so used to not seeing myself, or any reminders of the Wizarding world, I was taken by surprise.” He took a moment to inhale and exhale, slowly. “It’s okay, sorry to trouble you.”

 _You Gryffindors are so easy to read, it’s a wonder you’ve gotten anywhere in life, with all the telegraphing of your emotions_ , thought Draco. _Better to follow the Slytherin way and keep an inscrutable face to the world, because you never know when circumstances may change._

Clearly, circumstances had changed for both of them. And neither of them quite knew what to do about it.

~*~

Harry left the shop in a daze, after exchanging a few more words with Malfoy, who looked more approachable somehow, in Muggle clothing and Muggle surroundings. The Quidditch display had thrown him for a loop, no question, and he wondered to himself whether Malfoy thought he was an insufferable berk for caring about finding himself illustrated in a book about Quidditch history. A whisper of Snape’s voice crept to the forefront of his mind, berating him for thinking he was Special. And yet, Harry had spent the better part of the year trying to erase his Specialness. What more did his conscience want?

 _A reconciliation, perhaps?_ Once he would have laughed at the idea of reconciling with the likes of Malfoy, but time had changed him. Time and the memory of testifying for Malfoy and his mother before the Wizengamot, in the wake of Voldemort’s demise. They had narrowly escaped imprisonment and settled for a temporary exile, if Harry remembered correctly.

But really, what was there to reconcile about? The Dark Lord was dead, and the Death Eaters disbanded, and both the Wizarding and Muggle worlds were safe again, or as safe as they could be under the usual proceedings of human trial and error. Getting involved with the Malfoy heir would not change anything for Harry, except perhaps make his existence a little less monotonous while he tried the plumb the depths of Slytherin opacity.

Much to his surprise, Harry felt a flicker of the old Seeker curiosity coming to life, at the thought of getting to know Malfoy better. When the feeling didn’t go away after a minute or two, he started walking home, and by time he reached the stairs to his flat, his mind was made up. He would go back to the bookshop again the following day, and ask Malfoy if he’d be interested in going anywhere together, to catch up properly.

Emboldened by this plan, he sat down and pulled out a journal that he had abandoned several months ago. A cursory glance at the last few pages he’d written reminded him of a time when his emotional landscape had been mostly occupied by guilt about Ginny and Ron and the rest of the Weasleys. The feelings seemed distant now, but he was still surprised by how quickly they came back to life when he read over what he had written.

 _Enough_ , he told himself, and started to write again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of exposition, I know - thanks for bearing with me. :) There will be less exposition in future chapters, and more dialogue.
> 
> To any potential beta out there: I had some trouble coming up with an effective magical means for communication between wizards on the go, before mobile phones were ubiquitous, but eventually settled on com-spells, short for “communications spells,” which are sort of a modified charm based on the Floo Network. I am open to revising if you can help me come up with something better.


	2. In which Harry finds more than he bargained for

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is too nosy for his own good and suffers the consequences, although he mostly gets over it by the end of the chapter. Draco goes a bit overboard with the drinking. There is glitter.

“So Potter doesn’t want to be a Wizard.” There was a feeling of cognitive dissonance that he couldn’t shake when he thought of the Boy Who Lived choosing to ignore his fame and fortune made in the Wizarding world, in favor of living anonymously among Muggles. Maybe there was poetic justice in it, but Draco felt more annoyed by it than anything. Here he was, forced more or less into an exile made sweeter only by superficial comforts, and yet someone who was at least partially responsible for Draco’s misfortune would deny himself the endless sweetness available to him. What an effing idiot.

Miffed, Draco did something he hadn’t done in a while and poured himself a drink, a proper G and T with a swirl of elderflower syrup. Feeling somewhat assuaged, he lounged in a chair in the den, picking idly at a bowl of pistachios and flipping through the latest issue of Têtu. One of the side effects of working at a Muggle bookshop, as part of his immersion program, was the gradual creep of Muggle books and publications into his home, and Têtu was at the top of his list of preferred bedtime reading, when he wasn’t studying various texts on alchemy, potions, and Muggle history. _Something light and informative to keep the demons at bay._

The demons came out at night, when Draco had read his last sentence and turned out the light next to his four-poster bed, a import from Malfoy Manor. He still left a soft pink crystal light on in the hallway, to avoid tripping over anything if he got up in the night, he told himself. But if he was perfectly honest, it gave him solace and made him feel less alone. Any nocturnal visitors of the human kind were invariably sent home after their tryst had ended, no matter how late the hour. Better not to have someone around when he woke up from the nightmares, heart pounding, reaching out after his father. Better not to let them hear him muttering about the Dark Lord, or Death Eaters, or Dumbledore, in his sleep. He wasn’t sure that he did, but given the usual tenor of his dreams, he didn’t want to take any chances.

Tonight, however, was different. He dreamed that Potter showed up in a magic shop, looking for a new wand, and Draco, in the role of shop assistant, helped him to try them out, one by one. The magic shop felt suspiciously like a play set, and Draco was not surprised when it turned out that they had been performing in front of an audience all along, only to feel the bottom of his stomach drop out when he saw that the audience consisted of Dementors. He woke up then, his legs kicking themselves free of the sheets and his arms gripping one of the several pillows surrounding him. He swung himself up to sitting and Summoned a glass of water, hands trembling. The demons might take a different form tonight, but they were still there.

~*~

When Harry went back to Bedknobs and Broomsticks Book Emporium the following afternoon, he was disappointed to see that Malfoy wasn’t there. He dithered about for twenty minutes before deciding to buy the book on Quidditch, and chanced a question of the clerk who helped him buy it.

“Draco? He don’t usually work Thursdays, but yeh might find him in Farringdon.” When Harry looked at him with puzzlement, the clerk winked. “You know, the sauna?”

Harry did not know, but he murmured thanks and paid with his Muggle credit card, which had been magically linked to his account at Gringott’s during the transition to Muggle living. Several hours later, he had come up with a new plan. Instead of trying to catch Malfoy at work, he would try asking his friends at the Ministry of Magic if they could find out where he lived. It had been a few months since he’d reached out to Mr. Weasley or the others, but he figured it couldn’t hurt to ask, in the interest of unity.

Which was how he ended up on a posh street in Notting Hill, lurking across from the townhouse where Malfoy supposedly lived. It looked perfectly ordinary, almost ridiculous in its niceness. Could this really be the dwelling place of his longtime arch-nemesis at school?

The question was answered by Malfoy himself, who opened the door and paused on the steps between the door and the sidewalk, looking at something in his hand. Harry couldn’t figure out what it was until he lifted it to his ear, and then he understood. It was a mobile phone, and Malfoy was talking into it.

It really hit home then for Harry, that Malfoy was not any more a part of the Wizarding world than he was at the moment, possibly even less so. Harry at least had the privilege of carrying his wand and using his broomstick, without the Ministry checking his every move. He couldn’t quite feel sorry for Malfoy, but he did feel more warmth toward him than before, and strengthened his resolve to make a connection with the boy.

Young man, he corrected himself, as he looked over Malfoy’s outfit. Harry did not know much about fashion, but he knew enough to appreciate Malfoy’s care for detail, down to the tasteful leather shoes and loosely buttoned jacket. Hell, he looked _good_.

One possible reason for why he looked so put together became apparent when Harry followed him to the end of the street, at a distance so Malfoy wouldn’t notice him. Waiting for Malfoy was another young man who could only be described as – well, Harry’s suspicions were confirmed when Malfoy put away his mobile phone and greeted him with a kiss. He was too far away to hear what was said, but the body language was unmistakable.

Huh. So Malfoy batted for the other team now? This was news to Harry. Or perhaps it wasn’t, as he couldn’t recall a time when Malfoy was clearly one way or the other, nor when he had cared about anything but besting him. The wink from the bookstore clerk made a little more sense to him now, and Harry felt himself suddenly engulfed by horror at the thought that Malfoy might know that he was asking after him. Or that the clerk might think Harry was – you know. Queer.

Not that it was a bad thing, Harry reminded himself. After all, hadn’t his greatest hero, Albus Dumbledore, been a queer Wizard too?

Lost in thought, Harry didn’t notice that Malfoy and his friend had started walking until they were practically out of sight. He cursed to himself, fumbled with his wand, and cast a quick Tracing spell that landed on Malfoy’s back without him noticing. It sort of worked. Harry Apparated himself into the nearest Tube station, to get some idea of where Malfoy was headed, then from there onto a busy street in Soho that was seething with young merrymakers. Harry sidled along the sidewalk, scanning the crowd for familiar blond hair, but only found himself getting more lost by the minute. The Trace was short-lived and had dissipated already.

“Looking for anyone?” The speaker was a heavily beglittered individual of indeterminate sex, and Harry felt himself blushing at the way the stranger looked at him. “Or have you found yourself yet?”

“I - I - erm, well – I am looking for someone, I think. Not myself,” he hastened to clarify.

The stranger smiled at him with a little too much understanding, and Harry was at a loss for what to say that might keep his dignity intact. “Aren’t you the cutest. Got a name?”

“Harry.”

“Well, Harry – “ accompanied by an arm flung chummily over one shoulder – “what do you say to having a drink?”

“No, thank you, I’m not drinking right now.”

The stranger didn’t seem disappointed, but removed their arm from Harry’s shoulder, and threaded it through his left arm instead, smiling gently. “Why don’t you come with me then, and I can show you the sights. No strings attached, just wanting to help a newcomer out.”

Harry felt that it would be rude to say no, and so he followed the stranger. The first place they visited was a bar with a dancefloor that seemed to be devoted mostly to hits of the 80s, with occasional bouts of glitter descending from the ceiling. Harry didn’t see Malfoy anywhere, but that didn’t prevent him from acquiring several phone numbers, tucked into pockets both front and back, as he wandered through the heaving ocean of people and brushed glitter out of his hair. He felt flattered but relieved to leave, once the stranger had finished making the rounds.

They repeated the exercise a few times before landing in an upscale wine bar and restaurant. Harry was hungry by that point, and indicated that he wouldn’t mind eating, as long as the stranger didn’t think it was a date. “What is your name, by the way?”

“Silly, I thought you’d never ask.” They waved over a waiter before answering Harry’s question. “It’s Mysteria.”

“Well, Mysteria, I appreciate your showing me around, but I really don’t know what I’m doing here. I’m not – you know – queer, at least I don’t think I am.”

Mysteria grabbed his hand and led him behind the waiter, who seemed bent on finding them the most exclusive booth possible. Once parked, Mysteria turned their gaze upon Harry. “What does it matter, you can still enjoy yourself, yes?”

Harry shrugged and picked up the menu. “As long as the food’s good.”

It was, to Harry’s gratification. His enjoyment of the appetizer plate he ordered was spoiled, however, when he looked up and saw Malfoy approaching with a cluster of good-looking men. Mysteria saw the expression on his face before they saw Malfoy, and twisted around to look in his direction.

“Well, fancy seeing you here, Mysteria,” Draco drawled. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to – _Potter?_ ”

Harry wished he could sink into the floor and wipe all trace of this moment from the memory of everyone involved. He probably could make it happen with a little wandwork, but he didn’t want to scare the Muggles.

Mysteria’s look spoke volumes, and Harry didn’t like the story they were spinning about him and Malfoy. With dignity, Mysteria rose to the occasion and kissed Malfoy once on each cheek. “His name is Harry, but I take it you know each other?”

“Yeah, from school. Color me surprised, I didn’t know he swung both ways.”

Harry opened his mouth to correct him, but Mysteria swept in before he had a chance to set the record straight. “School chums, how sweet. You must have some catching up to do.”

“Well, actually – “ Malfoy didn’t seem any more enthusiastic about the idea than Harry felt (his previous magnanimity toward Malfoy all but forgotten), but it was too late. The posse surrounding him had decided that they were going to sit together, and that Malfoy and Harry wanted to talk. Which is how they found themselves squashed next to each other in a wine bar in Soho.

~*~

It could have been worse, Draco supposed. Potter, once he got over his obvious chagrin at seeing him under these circumstances, at least made the effort to be polite and introduce himself to Draco’s friends. _In name only_ , Draco reminded himself. Friends were for people who needed them, and Draco did not want to be needy of anyone. He could practically see the need oozing out of everyone at the table, and it repelled him if he thought about it too closely. But he was willing to play along, because it meant one less boring night for Draco, trapped in the Muggle realm.

“So tell me, Potter, what brings you to London? Surely you have a cozy country cottage somewhere, far from the madding crowds of city life?” Draco had had a few drinks already, and could feel Potter recoiling a little at his affectation. What did it matter, he didn’t have anything to lose. Besides, it was hard to take Potter too seriously when he was lightly sprinkled in glitter.

Potter looked down at his hands, then directly into Draco’s eyes. Draco found an unexpected sadness there, and turned away to order another drink. “Can I get you anything, Potter?”

Mysteria leapt in to save him. “Why don’t we get him a mocktail.” It was a statement, not a question, and Draco sought revenge by ordering Potter the fruitiest mocktail possible, embellished with an umbrella. Potter hardly batted an eyelid when the drink arrived, turning his attention back to Draco after his first sip.

“Honestly, I got tired of all that open space. Feels less alone, being in the city, yet it’s easy to lose myself when I want to.”

Draco didn’t dare ask any further, with present Muggle company, but he nodded in understanding, briefly overcome by an urge to wrap one arm around Potter in a gesture of solidarity. Perhaps he had had too much to drink. Any whisper of temperance withered away the moment the next round arrived, however.

Mysteria raised a glass and gestured for everyone at the table to do the same. “To being alone together!”

~*~

Harry watched Malfoy with fascination, as surreptitiously as he could while packed cheek by jowl into a booth with him. With each drink, he appeared to become more playful, chucking one person under the chin, caressing the palm of another, engaging in witty banter. No kissing this time, which was probably for the better. Harry was still getting used to the idea of his former arch-nemesis as a human being with feelings, let alone feelings for the same sex.

The night wore on into the wee hours, and the bar staff were clearly ready to start closing down by time the group made up its mind to go. Harry felt a moment of unease as he watched Malfoy stumble toward the loo, and wondered if he should step in and make sure he was all right. But he needn’t have worried, as the rest of the group were just as concerned with Malfoy’s wellbeing. It was at Mysteria’s insistence that Harry accompanied them all the way back to Malfoy’s street, and it was equally Mysteria’s insistence that Harry be the one to take him inside and make sure he was all right before leaving. “You still need to catch up, love,” they told Harry with a wink, when Harry might have protested.

~*~

Draco wasn’t quite sure how it had happened, but he was certain that he could not be imagining that Potter was in his home. After waving a hand in the direction of the door until it locked, Draco let Potter steady him as he removed his shoes at the door and stumbled toward the kitchen at the end of the hallway. “Tea,” he croaked at the kettle, which began to boil instantly. “Care for a cup?”

Potter looked nonplussed, but Draco was too tired and drunk to care. He flung himself into the nook and Summoned a couple of mugs to the table, gesturing for Potter to sit across from him. Potter sat, warily. His Gryffindor signals were flying as clear as day, and Draco found himself wondering if Potter was ever able to turn it off, the curiosity and longing to plunge into every situation without thinking it through. The thirst for adventure.

Speaking of thirst… Draco tapped the tea caddy at his elbow, which opened up and displayed a colorful array of flavors and herbs. “Astragalus and peppermint,” he uttered, and a teabag appeared in his mug. Potter took the hint and voiced his own preference – “chamomile” – before they subsided into awkward silence and sipping.

Clearly desperate for a conversation starter, Potter looked around him and commented on the appearance of the kitchen. “You have a really nice place, Malfoy. How long have you been living here?”

Draco was having none of the small talk. “Doesn’t matter, I’d rather have all my magic back, my family in one piece, and live in a hovel than be restricted the way I am to this place.”

“Do you really mean that?” Potter’s tone was soft, and Draco wondered with sneaking horror if he was pitying him. “Cause I’ve lived in hovels, or pretty near it, and I wouldn’t go back to that for the world, even with magic to help me.”

Draco’s interest was piqued. “What, the Boy Who Lived knows poverty and shame? Tell me more.”

Potter sighed. “You’re drunk, and I should go home. Maybe another time.” He took another sip of his tea and stood up. Draco made as if to follow suit, but collapsed back into his chair when the world wobbled too much for standing. “Come on Malfoy, let’s get you into bed. It’s almost – “ he paused for a glance around before landing on the clock in the corner – “ three in the morning. Don’t you have work later?”

Draco grinned, which felt out of place on his face. “No, I’m working this weekend, so I have today off too. Why don’t you come around for teatime, I can make you a real cuppa then. Learn more about your chequered past.“

Potter looked taken aback, but after a moment of hesitation, he said, “All right.”

The climb upstairs to the bedroom was torturous. Potter pulled him through it with a steady hand and some encouragement, the tea mug floating behind them. He avoided entering the bedroom but stood at the door and made sure Draco didn’t pass out as he made his way to the bed. “Night Malfoy,” he said at last, raising a hand awkwardly. And with that, he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might be able to tell that I’m not a London-dweller. Please excuse any geographical or historical inaccuracies, and let me know, kindly, how I might improve them.
> 
> The French magazine that Draco reads at night (yes, he does read in at least one foreign language, in my version of him), I chose mostly because of the title, which could be translated as "stubborn, obstinate, or unwilling to yield." The material is relevant to Draco's identity however, as you can see from checking out the Tetu website. ;)
> 
> The sauna Marcus refers to, when Harry asks after Draco in the bookshop, is Chariots Farringdon, described in their web archive as “offering a more intimate environment for the city gent” (make of that what you will o_0).


	3. In which more tea is served and Draco is impressed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry reveals a few new things about himself to Draco, and they revisit a familiar childhood activity together.

It felt like a peculiar dream, yet Harry knew upon waking that today would be a little different, because of his anticipated return to Malfoy’s home. Normally he wouldn’t have cared how he looked, but Malfoy’s frightening attention to detail had left him feeling more self-conscious about his appearance than usual. He finally emerged from his closet with an outfit that felt passable, if not outright fashionable. New trainers, newish jeans, and a button-down shirt that Ginny had said made him look “distinguished,” whatever that meant.

Apparating to Malfoy’s street was easy, but as he approached the short flight of steps leading up to his front door, Harry felt his heart rate increase with disbelief at what he was about to do. _Entering the dragon’s lair_ only just began to describe the feeling, and he jumped a little when Malfoy answered the door almost immediately.

“Come on in, and take off your shoes,” he drawled. Apparently the debauchery of the night before was forgotten, and Malfoy was dressed as crisply as a man could be in designer loungewear, hair arranged just so. He flicked on a light overhead with nothing but a spoken “Lumos,” and Harry couldn’t help asking about it. “Malfoy, aren’t you prohibited from doing most magic now? Like the tea, last night – how was that possible?”

“You’re forgetting that my family has influence. They may have been temporarily exiled from society, but they were still able to get permission for me to use magic within the wards of my own home while I complete this course of study. It’s designed to conduct magic in such a way that I don’t need to use a wand most of the time.” He looked upwards and sniffed. “The décor is a little gaudy for my taste, but I can’t really complain. “

Harry followed his lead and found himself gaping at the chandelier floating overhead in the stairwell. It consisted of several concentric loops that moved slowly in circles, flashing various rainbow lights off the crystals that dripped downwards from each loop. When he looked back down, Malfoy had disappeared into the kitchen at the end of the hall, and Harry peeked through the doors that flanked either side of the foyer. To his right, there was a small dining room with a table for six. To the left, a den with dim lighting and pudgy armchairs arranged across from what appeared to be a locked cupboard.

“In here, Potter.” Malfoy was outlined against the sunshine pouring into the kitchen, and Harry felt himself heating up a little around the collar as he backed out of the doorway and fumbled off his shoes before joining Malfoy in the kitchen.

It was much as he remembered from the night before, but with the notable difference of daylight and pastries. Harry was taken aback by the spread of food that Malfoy had produced, and didn’t know where to put himself. Malfoy, bringing milk and sugar to the table, noticed Harry’s discomfort and asked him to sit. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I got a bit of everything,” he said.

“Everything” happened to be a proper tea, complete with scones, biscuits, clotted cream, several varieties of jam, and tea you could practically stand a spoon up in. Harry accepted an offer of milk but declined sugar, and started with a scone slathered in clotted cream. “Mmmph. Wow, this is delicious.”

Malfoy had a slight curl to one side of his mouth, and Harry felt ready to relax a little.

“So Potter, tell me more about this business of leaving the Wizarding world behind.” Malfoy stirred his tea spoon laconically, but Harry picked up on some genuine interest behind the cool façade. “Surely the Boy Who Lived must miss being a celebrity.”

Harry all but glared at Malfoy. “First of all, could you stop calling me Potter? We’re not in school any more, in case you hadn’t noticed. Besides, it sounds like you’re spitting out my name every time you say it.”

“If you insist.” Malfoy took another sip of tea. “Harry. Why have you been hiding yourself away?”

It was highly disorienting to hear his name on Malfoy’s lips, and Harry found himself struggling for words. “Well, I guess you could say I had a crisis, and I felt the best way to avert it was to stop letting people treat me like I was special.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, forgetting that he had spent fifteen minutes that morning trying to tame it. “It’s hard to hide from the Wizarding world when you’re celebrated and adored by pretty much everyone in it. I thought it would be best to return to my Muggle roots for a year or so, figure things out.”

Malfoy chuckled, a sound almost as foreign to Harry’s ears as the sound of his name. “I have to hand it to you, Potter, you do surprise me sometimes.” He stopped chuckling at Harry’s look. “Sorry. Harry. I thought you loved getting all that attention, being you. And a Gryffindor.”

“That’s the problem with you, Malfoy. You think you have people figured out, but you really don’t know anything about me, at all.”

Malfoy quickly cut back. “I beg to differ. You and your cronies always seemed to have it figured out, you and that clever Granger, not to mention the godawful Weasley clan.”

Harry counted to ten, then ventured another word. “All right. Then tell me, why am I even here? Would I have bothered to bring you home and come back for tea if I thought I had you all figured out?”

Malfoy hesitated, frowning. “That’s true. I would like to know why you are here. Or why you were even in that bar last night, when you clearly don’t fancy other men.”

Harry willed himself not to blush, but he wasn’t sure how successful he was in the attempt. “I was there looking for you. Because I was curious. About you, after seeing you at that bookshop.” He took refuge in another bite of scone. “Malfoy, the last time I saw you, you were on trial for aiding and abetting Voldemort. Hobnobbing with queer Muggles is about as far from my previous image of you as I can get.”

Malfoy blinked. “How did you even know I’m gay, or that I would be in Soho last night? Are you spying on me, or something?”

Harry gave up, he was definitely blushing now. “Um, no… Well, only a little.”

Malfoy stood with cold fury writ large on his face. “I think we’ve had enough of this conversation. Unless you can give me a reason not to escort you out of my home.”

Harry stood up in turn, horrified by Malfoy’s reaction. “I’m sorry Malfoy – I mean, Draco. There’s been a huge misunderstanding, I only wanted to make amends. Or at least start down the road toward making amends. We’ve been through a lot of shit the past eight years, and I think I’ve had enough of holding grudges. I had hoped you would feel the same.”

Malfoy – Draco – appeared to be mollified, but he did not sit down, choosing instead to start clearing away the dishes. The food vanished as it approached a dishwashing unit under the counter, and Harry found himself momentarily mourning the loss of such fine pastry.

“Look, I didn’t ask to be a Death Eater, or to be born into one of the oldest Pureblood lineages. I did choose to take this year of Muggle immersion to make up for some of the damage caused to my family.” He exhaled sharply through his nose. “The least you could do is show me how I can trust you to not go spreading lies about me, or prying into my private business.”

Harry swallowed. “Okay, I can do that. Is it all right if I call you Draco? I should have asked before.”

“It’s fine with me, but don’t think it means anything that I let you. Or that I call you Harry. Good manners do not a friendship make.”

“Well, Draco, I’d like to ask you over to my place. For dinner. I think I can explain better that way, why I’m living the way I am. And why I’m not eager to return to being the Boy Who Lived.”

Draco snorted. “Really? Dinner? Isn’t that hopelessly not your forte?”

Harry was offended. “I’m not a bad cook, I’ll have you know. Just ask Ginny.” He paused, thinking twice. “Or not.”

Draco looked at him, with a calculating gleam in his eye. “Fine. One dinner. Tomorrow night, after I’m done with work.”

“Great. I can leave you my address.”

Draco shrugged and pulled up a pen and paper, which Harry took. His writing was little better than a scrawl, but it was readable, and that was what mattered.

“See you tomorrow, Draco. And thanks for the tea.”

~*~

Tomorrow came, and Harry was a nervous wreck. _What_ had he been thinking, to invite his former arch-nemesis over to his tiny flat and cook him dinner? He considered calling Draco to cancel the plan, but his Gryffindor pride wouldn’t let him do it. He had to prove to Draco that reconciliation was possible, after all they had been through at Hogwarts and Malfoy Manor.

The advantage of not having a job gave him plenty of time to clean out his flat and decide what to cook. He could make an excellent _coq au vin_ and _boeuf bourguignon_ , but he wasn’t sure it was wise to have wine about, after seeing how much Draco could drink. He settled instead upon pasta puttanesca, with rocket salad. He didn’t dare make a dessert after the pastry extravaganza of the day before, so he opted to buy a chocolate ganache cake from the bakery downstairs.

Then came the momentous decision of what to wear. He liked Draco’s style of dressing at home, casual but not to the point of sloppiness. He also liked that Draco didn’t wear shoes indoors, and considered constructing a temporary shoe rack, but ultimately decided against it because there was simply no room. “Tiny” did not begin to properly describe the size of his flat, and it took some creative maneuvering to get the table set just right.

Harry stood before his closet, which by contrast did not lack for space because he had failed to fill it with clothing. One side had robes and his old Quidditch gear, which took up a lot of room, but the other side was decidedly more sparse, and it was from there that Harry chose his armor for the evening. Today, it would be – the forest green corduroy shirt with khakis? Or how about – a light blue jumper with a crew neck, layered with a T-shirt underneath? That looked better, once he switched to a pair of darker trousers. His socks were a little shabby, but it couldn’t be helped. He liked them because Mrs. Weasley had knitted them for him, covered with tiny Snitches.

As the sun dripped closer to the horizon, the light changed to fill the main living room with a warm golden glow. It was into this space that Draco would make his first entry, and Harry felt relieved that at least the window was large enough to provide a decent view, if they looked out at the right angle.

Harry was stirring the puttanesca sauce when he heard a knock at the door. Casting a quick safety charm to keep the temperature consistent and the spoon stirring, he wiped his hands nervously and went to open the door. “Come on in, Malf – sorry, Draco.”

Draco was, as usual, dressed to perfection. This time, he had chosen a dark blue theme, or at least that was what Harry gathered before realizing that he might be staring and awkwardly stepped aside to let Draco in. His shoes were black loafers, and Harry almost forgot his newfound resolution to stop wearing shoes in the flat, until Draco stepped out of them. “You can just put them next to the door,” he muttered. Draco complied, then started to take his blazer off, and Harry had a moment of panic when he realized that he didn’t have a coatrack. “Let me take that for you, I can hang it in the closet.”

Draco shrugged and handed the blazer to him. It was lightweight yet warm to the touch and smelled vaguely of a spicy cologne, Harry couldn’t help noticing as he scurried through the bedroom to hang it up. The setting sunlight had abandoned the bedroom by now, forcing Harry to switch on the light as he entered and exited the closet.

When he re-entered the main room of the loft, he saw Draco looking at the décor. There were a few paintings hanging on the wall, a reminder of his Grimmauld Place inheritance from Sirius, which he had studiously avoided inhabiting since the end of the War, and Harry wondered, not for the first time, what they said about him and his taste. Ginny had seemed to like them, the few times he’d invited her over, but he had a feeling that Draco’s opinion would be more critical.

Whatever Draco’s opinion was, he chose to keep it to himself. “What’s cooking?” he asked instead, wrinkling up his aristocratic nose a little.

Harry hurried back to the kitchen to check on the sauce. “You’ll find out in a moment. Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Thought you weren’t drinking.”

Harry reappeared at the door. “I may not be drinking booze right now, but I have other things, like sparkling water and juice. Or milk?”

Draco snorted. “I think my days of milk-drinking are over, Potter, unless I’m pouring it in my tea. But not to worry, I brought something with me.”

Harry had failed to notice that Draco was carrying a four-pack, which he now set down on the low-lying table in Harry’s living room. Curious, Harry walked over to pick one up, and was surprised to see that they appeared to be Wizarding drinks. “FELICI-FIZZ,” the label trumpeted, with an artfully drawn witch who flew around the bottle in perpetuity, toasting him with a wink.

“Erm - what is this?”

Looking back up at Draco, he saw him as close to smiling as he could remember since seeing him drunk in the company of handsome men. The effect was pleasant, if foreign, like seeing an exotic bird execute perfect penmanship. “What, you never heard of Felici-Fizz? My mother loves these, sent me a boatload for my birthday.” He took the bottle out of Harry’s hands and showed him the back of the label. “If you look at the ingredients, you’ll see what makes them special, no liquor involved.”

Harry gamely peered at the label. The ingredients were mostly innocuous, but one caught his attention: “essence of Felix Felicis.” He looked more closely at the contents of the bottle, and saw that indeed there was a faint sparkle of gold, though much less potent than a full dose would be.

“Stop squinting, Potter, it’ll make you old before your time.” Draco seemed determined to continue calling him by his surname. He sat down with a sigh.

“You're right, I might be due for a checkup.”

Draco all but rolled his eyes and flung himself onto the couch across from Harry. Well, not so much flung, as gracefully plopped. Harry was intrigued by what he had done with his hair, which was long but not overmuch, and gently waved so that it fell evenly and softened the sharper angles of his face. If it weren’t for the attitude, he almost looked like he could be in a painting himself.

“Can’t you think of something more interesting to say? Like what life was like before you became famous Harry Potter?”

“Fine. Let me just finish preparing the sauce, we’re almost ready to eat.”

“I’m ready for a drink now. Care to join me?”

Harry sighed. He’d forgotten how persistent people who drank could be, but since this was Draco and he wanted to make amends, far be it from him to protest.

“All right, what do you want to know?” He settled into a chair across from the couch where Draco had sprawled himself.

“First things first. Got a bottle opener?”

“Oh for Merlin’s sake.” Harry snatched up a bottle and closed one fist over the top. There were not many occasions for it now, but the bottle-opening charm had stayed with him from his wilder days. It really drove home for him how helpless Draco must feel, not to be able to exert even the simplest magic outside of his home.

“Sorry to offend.” Draco’s tone was not sorry at all. “What shall we drink to?”

Harry picked up another bottle after handing the open one to Draco. “No offense, mate. How about – to making new friends out of old enemies.”

Draco raised his eyebrows, but refrained from making any comment. “Cheers.”

Harry took his first sip, and was pleasantly surprised. It tasted like violets and tingled sweetly across the tongue, with a bright lemony aftertaste. He wondered what the “essence of Felix Felicis” would do for his mental state.

“So, Harry.” The drink seemed to be working on Draco already, if he was willing to revert to first-name basis. “What is this hovel you spoke of?”

~*~

It took some prodding, but after Potter had taken several sips of his drink, Draco was gratified to learn the story of his upbringing and why he seemed relatively at ease in the Muggle world. He did not consider himself an empathetic person, but after hearing about the Dursleys and the cupboard under the stairs, he started to feel almost sorry for Harry. Not to mention the whole thing about his parents dying at the hands of the Dark Lord. His troubles with his own father paled in comparison – at least he knew that he was alive, even if he couldn’t see him any more.

Thankfully, there were funny parts too. Draco found himself smiling more than once at Harry’s stories about getting back at the Dursleys, and was surprised when Harry reached over to switch on a lamp. He had not noticed how dark it was getting.

“All right, Draco, you must be hungry by now. Let me serve up some dinner.”

Draco obliged. It felt kind of nice, being waited on hand and foot by the Boy Who Lived. Or at least, the Boy Who Had Lived and Now Hid. For the first time, he wondered whether Harry was single.

When Harry re-emerged with a couple of plates in hand, Draco had relocated himself to the second chair across from the couch, a fresh Felici-Fizz in hand. He waited until Harry had set down the plates before wordlessly holding out both bottles. Harry was clearly hesitant, but politeness won out and he opened them.

“Ta very much. And thanks for making dinner, it looks smashing.”

Harry went a bit pink. “Why don’t you try tasting it first before you say anything.”

A few bites later, Draco was impressed. Harry had not been lying when he said that he was a good cook, and Draco wondered if there were some other unknown talents hidden up Harry’s sleeve. He intended to find out.

“Enough about me, what about you, Draco?” Harry’s demeanor was much more relaxed after the second Felici-Fizz, and Draco liked it. “Any hair-raising stories about life at Malfoy Manor?”

Draco could think of a few, but he was more interested in Harry at the moment. “Ah, not really. Most of them you probably can guess. Wizarding lineage, privileged upbringing, filial duty, et cetera, et cetera.” He gestured with one hand at the corner of the room before remembering that he was still holding a drink, and a little liquid sloshed over onto the carpet. “Whoops, sorry. I meant to ask, what is that over there?”

Lips pursed with amusement or annoyance – Draco couldn’t be sure which – Harry went to the kitchen for his wand and cast a quick Scourgify. “What, you mean the computer?”

“Yes, I think. That box on that desk over there, with the funny blank window in front.”

Harry’s eyes went round with astonishment. “You’ve never used one? But what about – blimey, how do you not have a computer? Shouldn’t that be, like, top priority in Muggle Studies?”

Feeling irritated but curious, Draco pressed on. “Why would I need one? What do you do with it, anyway?”

Harry shook his head, still bemused. “You don’t know what you’re missing, mate.”

“Well, tell me then. Or show me.”

Harry was more than willing to oblige, and Draco soon knew much more about computers than he cared to, but it was worth it to see Harry so engaged and enthusiastic about explaining things. To him. Draco wondered if this was what it felt like, being part of the Trio with Granger and Weasley. He’d had his own version of the Trio, of course, consisting of Crabbe and Goyle, but they weren’t so much good for explaining and discussing things as for ordering around.

Carried away by his thoughts, he noticed belatedly that Harry had switched topics and was asking him a question. “Sorry, what?”

“When was the last time you flew on a broomstick?”

Draco’s mood soured. “Don’t know. It’s been a while, why do you want to know?”

Harry’s expression was mischievous, and Draco wondered whether he’d overdone it with the Felici-Fizz. Who knew how it affected these foolhardy Gryffindor types? But that ship had sailed already, so he might as well find out where it was headed.

“I know you’re not supposed to do magic right now, at least not outside of your house. I haven’t been doing much magic myself, besides a few domestic charms and Apparition. But I think you might like this, if we can get you on a broom without triggering an alert.”

Draco swallowed, then hated himself for the vulnerability of the gesture. “What do you propose, that we fly over London? That’s a bit risky, isn’t it?”

Harry shook his head. “No, no, I’ve worked out a system, trust me.”

Trust him? Draco had not been inclined to trust Harry – well, ever - but tonight, with two Felici-Fizzes in him and a pleasant hum of anticipation in his chest at the thought of flying again, he couldn’t exactly say no. “Sure, why not. Let’s give it a go.”

Harry was almost gleeful in his response. “Brilliant. Let me just take care of a few things before we head out.”

~*~

Harry couldn’t quite believe what he’d done, offering Malfoy – Draco – a chance to go flying. But it really was a shame, that someone who was once so keen about Quidditch and brooms was no longer able to enjoy them, and he wanted to share some of that joy. He missed flying with his Quidditch friends, now that Ron was preoccupied with his new side gig and Ginny did more than enough flying at her job.

Dinner dishes cleared away, he rushed into the bedroom to rummage through his closet. He suspected that Draco was close enough in height to be able to use his extra shin guards, but he wasn’t sure about finding the right jumper, as Harry was somewhat thicker in the chest than Draco from Auror training. He dithered for a bit but finally settled on his softest Mrs. Weasley jumper and brought everything out to the living room, along with Draco’s blazer.

Draco balked at putting on the jumper, turning up his nose at the loud design. When Harry explained to him that they would be flying in the countryside, he insisted on visiting Harry’s closet and picking out something himself.

“Good Godric, Potter, what kind of a clothing selection is this?” Draco held out one shirt like it was something a Kneazle had dragged in, then sniffed at it unselfconsciously. “At least it doesn’t smell as bad as it looks.”

Harry tried to feel annoyed but couldn’t, not with the smattering of luck still bubbling through his veins. “Doesn’t matter much when I’m trying to blend in. Come on, pick something out.”

Draco took his time, but finally pulled out a dark wool overcoat and shrugged it on over his blazer, eschewing the shin guards. His hair was ever so slightly mussed, and Harry resisted a mad urge to tidy it. He put on his own layers without much thought, wrapping a two-toned Gryffindor scarf around his neck to further ward off the night chill.

“All right, good. Next step, getting to the roof.”

He had a skylight, which he was used to climbing through on his own, but he wondered how it would work with Draco there. He instructed Draco to climb up the ladder steps that led to the loft area beneath the skylight.

“Surely you’re joking. How do you expect me to climb on the roof?”

Harry sighed. “It’s easy, I swear. Let me just give you a boost.”

Grabbing his shoes in one hand, Draco made the climb, with Harry close behind. It was but the work of a moment to put on his own shoes and help Draco upwards through the skylight before lifting himself through and reaching down to collect his beloved broom.

The skylight closed behind them with final click, and Harry was hit once more by the oddity of the situation. Here he was, with his once sworn enemy, standing on a rooftop in London about to embark upon a tandem flight. _Stranger things_ , he thought to himself, _stranger things._

“How do you want to do this? You in front, me behind? Or vice versa?”

Harry swung one leg over the broom. “Why don’t you get on behind me, I’m not sure how kindly she takes to being steered by others.”

Draco sniggered. “She? What, do you have a name for her and everything?”

“Of course. She goes by Dawney, short for Dawnflight, although it’s probably not the most appropriate of names. I never fly her in the morning these days. Didn’t you ever name your brooms?”

“Can’t say I did. Are we going to fly or what?” Draco had climbed in place behind him, a warm presence at Harry’s back.

Harry squared himself off in preparation. “Hold on tight, I’m going to Apparate us first.”

Draco’s grip tensed, but he chose not to say anything further, which Harry took as consent. It had been a while since he’d Side-Alonged anyone with him, but surely it was like riding a broom and wouldn’t set off any alarms.

It was over after one agonizing moment. They were now located next to a mountain lake, somewhere in the north, and the stars sparkled fiercely overhead. The air was cool but not biting, and Harry felt the familiar exhilaration rise in him as he kicked off from the ground.

~*~

Draco was, to put it mildly, out of his element. What had he been thinking, climbing onto a roof and getting onto a broom with Harry, let alone Apparating with him? Who did he think he was, going along with this hare-brained Gryffindor scheme?

And yet, there was something comforting in the feel of settling onto a broom and wrapping his arms around Harry. His back was unexpectedly broad, and when Draco turned one ear toward Harry’s spine, he could hear his heart hammering away in a reassuring staccato beat. Draco was very aware of his hands, not knowing where to put them, before landing just below Harry’s waist, resting a hand on either hip. He was suddenly taken over by a feeling of vertigo that had little to do with flying.

“How are you holding up, Malfoy?” He noticed Harry’s slip back into his surname and felt almost affectionate toward their old rivalry. Really, he must be getting sentimental, if one flight could bring up such a range of feeling.

“Great, this is – delightful, actually.”

Harry banked and began a lap around the lake, which glimmered darkly in response to the stars above. A breeze had kicked up and whistled past Draco’s ears, making him wish he’d picked out a cap from Harry’s closet, no matter how dreadful. He settled instead for flipping up the collar on Harry’s coat, which seemed to help a little.

“I like to come up here often during the summer,” Harry shouted over one shoulder, “but as you can tell, it gets a little chilly at night. Let me know if you get too cold and we can head back to London.”

“Where are we?” Draco shouted back.

“I’m not exactly sure. Someplace in Yorkshire, I think, or maybe in the Lake District. I forget where it is geographically, but I made up a name for it too - Lake Friendship.”

Under normal circumstances, Draco would have laughed at the name. But tonight was not normal by any stretch of the imagination. Not for him.

~*~

They circled around the lake several times before Draco finally piped up and said he would like to go back to the city. Harry obliged and Apparated them both to Draco’s street without thinking. Fortunately, it was late enough that the street lay empty, illuminated by elegant lamps and absent of prying eyes peering through windows, as far as they could see. Music throbbed somewhere in the distance, but Draco declined Harry’s offer to go somewhere and invited him inside instead.

The space between them was warm and taut, as they sat in Draco’s kitchen and sipped yet another cup together. Harry couldn’t tell if it was a lingering effect of the Felici-Fizz, or if he genuinely thought that Draco was even more striking than usual, with the color whipped into his cheeks by the wind off the lake. His appreciation of Draco’s looks had crept from aesthetic to something more visceral.

As if in response, Draco stretched his arms overhead and bent one languid hand to run over his hair, yawning. Noticing Harry’s eye upon him, he grinned lopsidedly. “What do you say to a game of cards, Harry? I have a few sets in the den, Wizarding and Muggle. Your pick.”

Harry glanced at the clock in the corner. It was early still, the minute hand barely past midnight, and yet he wondered if staying on with Draco wouldn’t lead to more confusing feelings. What those feelings might be, he couldn’t say exactly, but the tightness in his lower abdomen told him that Something Could Happen.

“I’d better not. ‘Sides, don’t you have work tomorrow?”

“True. But it hardly requires much of me, besides standing around and looking mildly bored with the whole thing. Which would be correct.”

Harry shook his head. Even as a temporary Muggle, Draco could be a real twat.

“Suit yourself, Harry. Thanks for taking me up on your broom, it was fantastic.”

Harry couldn’t be sure, but he thought he heard sincerity in Draco’s voice, and he was heartened by it. “Ah, it was nothing. We can do it again sometime if you like.”

A slight nod was all he got from Draco before they both stood up, and Harry started to gather his things. Draco handed him the wool coat, then hesitated before handing the broom to him. “Just so you know, it’s impossible to Apparate in or out of my place. You’ll probably have to go across the street to the park that’s a few blocks away if you want to fly home, but you should be able to Apparate again once you leave the steps outside my door.”

Harry blinked, taken aback by the reminder. “Good to know, thanks.” He started to bundle the scarf around his neck, then saw Draco looking at him with what could have been either disgust or amusement. “What?”

“That bloody Gryffindor scarf. Some things never change, do they.”

“I dunno, seems like a few things might have changed tonight.” Harry felt himself blushing a little after he said it, which turned to a lot when Draco stepped closer in to adjust his scarf for him.

“Tell you what, Potter. Before we take our next spin around Friendship Lake, why don’t you let me take you shopping. At a proper department store. Seriously, you may be in hiding but we have to upgrade your look a little.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest, then shut it, considering. Draco did have a point – the last time he had gone shopping was right around the time he had sworn off drinking, and his judgment might have still been a bit clouded. Besides, it could not be denied that Draco was a fine dresser.

“Deal.” He held out a hand to Draco, who shook it elegantly, like he was holding something delicate. Harry noticed for the first time that Draco’s eyes were ever so slightly more blue than grey, then chided himself for staring again. “See you – tomorrow?”

“Why don’t we wait until Monday, it’s usually a little quieter during the week. Ten o’clock at Harrods. It should give us a couple of hours before I have to get to work.”

Harry nodded. “Righto, see you then.”


	4. In which Harry tries a new look

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff with a bit of snark (it moves the plot along too, I promise :P). A new character is introduced.

Harry was not prepared for the onslaught of luxury that was Harrod’s. It called to mind his first visit to Diagon Alley, as a fledgling Wizard with little idea of what lay in store for him. Abundance lay everywhere, and without Draco’s guiding eye, he would have turned around and fled, or drowned in it.

“You do know that I’m not infinitely wealthy,” Harry brought up when Draco handed him a pair of emerald cufflinks to try on. “I may have a vault full of Galleons from my parents, but I intend to make it last a lifetime, not just one day here.”

Draco made a shushing gesture. “Now now, we’ll have none of that. First we find what makes you look best, then we talk pricing. Clerks can be – flexible.”

Harry had a funny feeling that Draco was letting on more than he could fathom, but before he could ask any questions, Draco whisked him on to the next department to pick out a selection of ties.

They had amassed a healthy pile of clothes for Harry to try on, and were on their way to the dressing rooms when they ran into a small gaggle of young women. One of them looked at Harry, and her eyes lit up in recognition. Harry felt the bottom of his stomach lurch unpleasantly, but it was too late to dodge her gaze.

“Oh my Godric,” she breathed, “are you Harry Potter?”

“What’s it to you?” was Draco’s response, as he stepped in front of Harry, chin up. The woman was clearly a Witch, or at least not a Muggle, but instead of producing a wand, she raised a camera and asked if she could get a picture of herself with Harry. “Absolutely not,” was Draco’s reply, and he led Harry away while she stood crestfallen among her friends.

“You really didn’t need to do that,” Harry informed him. “It’s not the first time it’s happened, I could have managed on my own.”

Draco did not seem convinced. “We are here for your aesthetic improvement, not for some fangirl distraction.” He steered Harry toward the clerk guarding the men’s dressing rooms. “We don’t have a moment to waste.”

“Since when have you been so interested in Muggle clothing?” Harry called over the door to his changing stall while trying on a shirt. He jumped a little when Draco opened the door and poked his head in to answer.

“Honestly Potter, the only things that have kept me sane are clothes, books, and records. Oh, and men. Mostly Muggles.”

Harry felt very self-conscious without a shirt on, but carried on as if talking to Draco half-naked was second nature. “And yet, you don’t know what a computer is or how to navigate the Tube without a cluster of arm candy to help you.”

“Speaking of which – “ Draco’s head disappeared behind the door, and Harry returned to the business of putting on the shirt at hand, which was rather tight for his liking, although the fabric felt wonderful against his skin. No sooner had he finished buttoning up, he had another fright as Draco poked his head back in, this time with company.

“Harry, meet Nigel. Nigel, meet Harry.”

“Hello, hello.” Nigel’s eye swept Harry from head to toe, then back up again to scrutinize the fit of his shirt in a professional manner. Or at least, Harry hoped it was professional, and not just gratuitous gawking.

“Erm, hi Nigel.” Harry spun awkwardly with his arms out. “What d’you think?”

Draco and Nigel exchanged glances, then by some unspoken agreement, Nigel turned back to Harry. “It makes you look like a gigolo on the cover of a trashy romance novel.”

“I’m sorry, a what?”

“A gigolo. A high-class male escort. Or possibly a thirteenth-century troubadour.”

Draco chuckled and nudged Nigel conspiratorially, then turned to Harry with a serious face. “No really, Harry, it’s far too form-fitting and the cut is all wrong, although the color does match your complexion nicely.”

Harry picked at the buttons at his sleeves. “You’re probably right, it’s way too tight for comfort. The material is great though, maybe I should look for a different size?”

“Not unless you want to look like a sixteenth-century gallant.” Nigel couldn’t seem to resist bantering, and Harry was irritated with it.

“Look, I’m way out of my depth here. Can the two of you stop messing around and help me find something that actually works? I’m about ready to give up, honestly, and I haven’t tried but the one shirt on.”

Nigel’s head subsided out of view, and Draco murmured something to him before turning back to Harry. “I have to get to work in about an hour, so if you don’t mind waiting here and trying on the rest of the clothes you have with you, the two of us can do one final sweep of the men’s department. Just remember to pose in front of the mirror with each item, Nigel’s spelled it to take pictures.”

Draco’s head vanished before Harry could question him, and Harry was reduced to feeling foolish as he put each clothing item on and struck a cheesy pose before the mirror. It was almost as bad as the photo shoot he had endured during the one interview he’d done with Witch Weekly. But Draco was true to his word – by time Harry had finished trying everything on, Draco brought him a smaller selection and removed some of Harry’s rejects.

Finally, every piece of clothing had been tried on, and Harry was thoroughly sick of the tinkling bossa nova music in the background. “Draco?” he called. “Can we go now?”

There was whispering on the other side of the door, and then Draco opened the door all the way. “All right, we’ve landed on about ten pieces for you to choose from. Try to get at least one item from each group, trousers, shirts, jumpers, accessories, et cetera. Shoes will have to be a separate outing.”

Harry’s head was spinning. ‘You want me to try these on _again_?”

Nigel looked apologetic. “We need to see how they contrast with each other. And you may want to reconsider some of your rejects, that dark grey cashmere looked absolutely smashing on you.”

Harry could not refrain from rolling his eyes, but he went along with their instructions anyway. After much hemming and hawing and consulting of images on Nigel’s magically retro-fitted flip phone, they were able to land on an agreement to purchase six of the ten pieces, for an eye-smarting seven thousand pounds.

“Don’t worry, I’ll pay for it,” Draco reassured him.

“Absolutely not,” insisted Harry.

“It’s really okay, Nigel works here and gets a great discount.”

“Seriously? What kind of a discount is going to make any difference with seven thousand pounds? What does that even translate to in Galleons?”

Nigel consulted his phone and told Harry, who did not feel any better after hearing it.

“Look, you can take us out, treat us to dinner or something. The hour’s almost up, I need to get to work soon.”

Harry finally gave up and let them drag him to the checkout counter, where the clerk watched in amusement as Draco paid with what looked like a silver credit card and Nigel lovingly wrapped each item in tissue paper before depositing it in a Harrods bag. The feeling of sunshine on Harry’s face had never felt sweeter when he exited the store.

“Sorry if that went on a bit longer than we’d planned. Nigel has very discriminating taste.” Draco looked at Harry with a hint of a twinkle in his eye. “But I think we did good today. The Boy Who Lived should live in style.”

“Who is this Nigel anyway? I don’t remember him from Hogwarts or anything, is he a Wizard?”

“Nigel Myles-Harkley – you haven’t heard of him? Of course you haven’t, you grew up with middle-class Muggles. His family is one of the newer Wizarding families who made their fortune in magic-assisted Muggle inventions. He went to Beauxbatons and summered in the south of France, which is why you probably never heard about him at Hogwarts.”

“So you do have some Wizarding friends.”

Draco shrugged. “He’s – well, I guess you could call him that. Although I'm not sure friends would shag the way we do.”

Harry stopped short and raised his eyebrows. “I’m sorry, did you say the two of you are _shagging_?”

“Why is that a surprise? Clearly you’ve figured out that I’m gay, do I need to walk on eggshells around you?”

Harry resumed walking, his face thoughtful. “No, I suppose you’re right, I just wasn’t prepared for you to be so, well, _frank_ with me.”

“Harry, if you’re serious about letting bygones be bygones, you don’t have a choice but to hear some of the more intimate details of my life. Unless of course it’s a life-threatening secret.”

Harry did not have a response for that, and so they walked in companionable silence the rest of the way to the Tube station before parting.

“Hey, thanks Draco. For this. It was – fun, sort of. I mean, as fun as possible for the amount of time we had.”

“Any time. Except not really, we don’t want send you into another fit about Galleons, do we. But I look forward to our next outing. Maybe another turn on your broomstick?” There was a wicked look in Draco’s eye. "Not speaking metaphorically, of course."

“Ha, very ha. But yeah, we should meet up again. Soon.”

Draco waved at him, half turned away already to trot down the stairs. Harry was left with a strange aching sensation as he watched Draco leave, then gathered himself and Apparated home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I plead general ignorance of London and Harrods. Let me know if I’ve written anything inaccurate, keeping in mind that this chapter takes place in October 2001 – things might have been a little different then. 
> 
> Mobile phones were not yet endowed with the many capabilities they have now, so I took liberties with magically altering Nigel’s for convenience's sake. Plus I like the idea of Muggle-Wizard collaboration as an explanation for some of the miraculous leaps in technology that we now take for granted.


	5. In which Something Happens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First description of sexual activity between characters (nothing terribly graphic, that will come later). Harry has a moment of voyeuristic weakness and a mild case of jealousy mixed with FOMO. He also makes a terrible dad joke. You have been warned.

Draco was having fewer nightmares, but he wasn’t sure if his developing friendship with Harry had anything to do with it. There was Nigel, who had proved to be much more useful than he had anticipated, after meeting him at a cousin’s wedding in the French Riviera the previous spring. The night had ended in a drunken tryst, and Draco had not expected to run into him in London, yet Nigel had tracked him down and convinced him that meeting up for some fun every now and then was not an unreasonable thing to do. Most recently, in the form of shopping.

With Harry effing Potter, of all people.

He couldn’t explain to his therapist what it felt like, being able to call Harry a friend. She had probably never heard of him, unless indirectly by reading a highly fictionalized book series about him, which had developed a surprisingly large following among the Muggles. Yet there he was, trying to explain to her the unexplainable.

“What is it about Harry that makes you feel better?”

“He’s a celebrity, among some circles, maybe that has something to do with it. Only, he doesn’t seem to want to have anything to do with those circles any more. I don’t quite understand why it bothers him so much.”

“Does he remind you of anyone else you know?”

“I couldn’t really say. He’s quite unique.” A little bit _too_ unique, Draco thought to himself. “The fame might have gotten to him when he was younger, but I don’t think he feels the same way about it now.”

“Try not to think of him as famous, Mr. Malfoy. Try to think of him how he would like to be.”

 _Easier said than done_ , but Draco settled back in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment, resting his fingers on his temples. _Imagine that you are Harry, with an unfortunate childhood and a tumultuous seven years of boarding school education._ Draco’s eyes flew open. It had just occurred to him that the words didn’t just describe Harry, but could describe him, with a slightly different definition of “unfortunate.” Or did that make him a narcissist? He wasn’t accustomed to questioning himself in this way, and cast about for a different topic. “Have I told you about Nigel yet?”

He could almost see her ears perk up as she leaned forward slightly. “No, who is he?”

“He’s a new friend I made this past spring. I met him at a wedding.” _After several shots of Ogdens,_ he thought to himself, but she didn’t need to know every gory detail.

“At a wedding. How did that make you feel?”

“The wedding or Nigel? Bored to the first, intrigued to the last. Nigel’s in a league of his own.” Again he found himself omitting a large part of the truth, which was that Nigel and his family were considered somewhat of an upset within the established Wizarding elite. Born as Wizards, but raised in harmony with Muggles, they had built their fortune upon collaborating with them rather than rejecting them as impure. Now there was a concept he couldn’t have sold to the Dark Lord if he had wanted to. Not for the first time, Draco thanked his lucky stars that the War was over. Even if it meant that he might never see his father again.

~*~

Harry didn’t know what he thought of this Nigel character. He might be wealthy and have impeccable taste, but besides that, what did Draco see in him? His looks were unremarkable, and his manners downright rude, and somehow he couldn’t picture Draco being attracted to someone like him for long. But what did he know, it was less than a week since he’d discovered that Draco was gay. And why should he care?

Meanwhile, Harry didn’t know what to do with the exquisite new clothes they had sent home with him. He settled for hanging them in a special place in his closet, and admired them as he changed into something more comfortable. _Seven thousand pounds_ , he thought to himself, shaking his head.

It wasn’t his plan to fall asleep on the couch that night, but he did, consequently falling off and waking himself up at an ungodly hour. Heart still racing from the dream that had sent him tumbling, he reached out to turn on a light, then paused. Who was it that had made an appearance in the dream? He had a vague memory of being outdoors, sitting next to a pale someone who was Levitating an object in his hand. Harry’s dream vision focused sharply upon the figure, who transformed before him into a young Draco as he had seen him when they first met at Hogwarts, hand extended as if in friendship. Meeting his eyes, Harry felt something unfamiliar stir to life within his chest. Rather than the usual nightmarish sensation of icy terror, he felt a different terror instead, imbued with warmth and trembling.

Harry shook himself out of it and turned on the light. Time to make himself a warm milk and watch something relaxing on his new DVD player before tucking himself into bed.

~*~

The better part of the week had passed before Draco felt ready to reach out to Harry again. Between shopping and meeting Nigel and talking to his therapist, he felt like he’d had more than his usual quotient of human contact. Plus there had been a sudden uptick in customers at Bedknobs and Broomsticks. It was frightful to see how quickly the Quidditch and Potter-related books were selling, in anticipation of the new film coming out in November, and he wondered if Harry had any idea how much money he could be making off them. But he probably hadn’t, out of Gryffindor nobility or some such rot. Or wanting to stay hidden from the public eye.

It was Thursday morning when Draco set down his Earl Grey and activated a com-spell to buzz Harry’s wand. Harry took a while to respond, and Draco could see that he hadn’t slept very well. “Someone’s got a serious case of bedhead this morning,” he commented, by way of greeting.

Harry yawned and reached somewhere to put on his glasses. “Yeah, I had a hard time falling asleep last night. Too many video games.”

“Someday you’ll have to tell me just what it is you like about them. Not today though. Today is my day off, and I think we should take Nigel out for dinner. What do you say?”

Harry looked mildly put out. “I – well, I suppose I did promise to. But I have to say, it feels a bit odd to be bringing him along when you and I are still getting to be mates.” He looked a little abashed after he said this, and pushed his glasses further up his nose. “Sorry, I know you like him and all.”

Draco scoffed. “ _Like_ is hardly the right word. But yeah, I think there’s no way to wiggle out of this one, considering his family connections. I’m sure he’s been dying to ask you more questions about what it’s like to be Harry Potter.”

Harry appeared to be counting to ten again. “Draco, I don’t feel comfortable with those types of questions, in fact I’ve been actively avoiding them for the past several months. Don’t you think you could – I dunno, tell Nigel I’m traveling incognito right now, or something?”

“Oh come off it, Harry. I was only joking. I assure you that he knows how to be discreet, especially with celebrities like yourself.”

“Stop – calling me – a celebrity,” Harry said through gritted teeth.

“What would you like to be called then? Harry, are you even aware of the giant franchise that Muggles have been building upon your name? Some woman claimed the credit for coming up with your story, and frankly, I don’t know how you can stand for it.”

“Draco, I don’t expect you to understand, but _I don’t care_. They can have my story, for whatever good it might do. They’re already living in a world without magic, can’t my name bring them a little bit closer to experiencing it, if only in imagination?”

Draco did not have a witty response for this. Truly, Harry was a Gryffindor to the bone, and Draco would have to accept it, whether he liked it or not. And he was starting to realize that he did like it, despite his better judgment.

“Ugh, fine. We don’t have to take Nigel out for dinner, but I do insist on inviting him over to my place. With you there. We owe him that much.”

Harry agreed eventually, on the condition that absolutely no invasive questions be asked about Harry’s past, and that no alcohol be served. “That’s just fine, I think Nigel’s been fixing to jump on the wagon anyway. This’ll give him a proper excuse.”

~*~

Harry regretted their agreement as soon as the com-spell ended, but he didn’t have the heart to cancel. The dream of several nights ago was still lingering at the edge of his consciousness, and he wondered if it was making him more twitchy than usual.

The sun had just slipped over the horizon when Harry Apparated to Draco’s street. Nervously flattening his fringe and adjusting his new clothes, Harry rang the doorbell. The long pause that followed made Harry wonder if he had the wrong time, and he was on the verge of taking out his wand to spell Draco when the door opened. It was Draco, but as Harry had never seen him.

This Draco was not neatly dressed or impeccably groomed, but wore a pale grey silk bathrobe and his hair swept sideways at a decidedly rakish angle. The color in his cheeks and lips gave Harry a clue as to what he might have been pursuing moments before, and a wave of crimson heat crashed over Harry as he looked at Draco, stunned into silence.

“Hi Harry. Sorry about the wait, Nigel and I were – busy.”

Draco had the decency not to leer, and stepped back when Harry made a move to enter. “Make yourself at home, I will get dressed and be down in half a tick. With Nigel.”

Harry nodded wordlessly, battling a host of emotions that he did not want to reveal. He wondered why he felt hurt, as if he were being left out on some great secret, when as far as he knew, he did not see men that way and least of all Draco. Simmering just below the hurt was a hint of curiosity at what might go on behind closed doors for men who enjoyed each other’s bodies. He had a general idea of what could happen, but lacked the final spark of desire that would make him want to pursue it.

It was the curiosity that won out in the end. Instead of parking himself in the den or the kitchen, Harry silently tiptoed up the stairs and paused on the landing, outside the bedroom door, which was closed. He couldn’t hear much through the door, and before he lost his nerve, he cast a quick spell that allowed him to see through the door without detection.

Draco lay sprawled backward across the bed, his robe and legs fallen open to either side over the edge while Nigel worked his magic between them. It was not long before Draco tipped back his head with abandon, obviously cresting a wave of sensation, then bringing a hand down to bury in Nigel’s hair. Harry watched his lips move as he sat gradually upright, and how he smiled when Nigel rose to kiss him. They indulged in long, juicy snog before Draco slapped a naked buttock and made to stand up.

That was Harry’s cue to make a hasty retreat back to the place where he should have been all along, in the den. The image of Draco on the bed was burned across his brain, and Harry didn’t know whether to laugh out loud or claw his eyes from his skull. The urge to laughter came from the sheer cognitive dissonance of seeing how much his image Draco had changed since the time of their schoolboy rivalry, and the eye-clawing, well – he didn’t know where that impulse came from. New information overload, perhaps. He was also bewildered to realize that the sight had sent his nerve ends tingling in all manner of unexpected places.

Belatedly, he remembered that Draco preferred shoes off, and removed them in a panic as he scurried past the shoe rack into the den. He had barely enough time to arrange himself on the couch when Draco appeared at the bottom of the stairs, still slightly rumpled but at least dressed. Nigel was not far behind him.

“Hullo, Harry.” Nigel offered a hand to shake, and held onto Harry’s hand a bit longer than necessary. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, under more casual circumstances.” He spoke with a slight lisp that would have been almost charming, if Harry hadn’t just seen him finishing Draco off moments before.

“Why don’t the two of you get better acquainted while I gather the noshables. Nigel, can you get Harry something to drink?” Draco asked as he left for the kitchen.

Harry looked at Nigel, shrugging. “As long as it doesn’t have booze in it, I could try anything.”

Nigel smiled. “I know just the thing, how about a virgin Cosmo?”

Harry didn’t know what that was, but he didn’t care for Nigel to explain. “Sure.”

“Two Cosmos, coming up!” Nigel bustled off to the kitchen in turn, and Harry was left awkwardly sitting in the room by himself. At least they didn’t seem to be aware of his earlier spying attempt. If he was perfectly honest with himself, he felt a little jealous of the casual camaraderie between the two of them.

When Nigel returned, a deep ruby drink garnished with orange peel in either hand, Harry was just beginning to look through the collection of records that Draco had amassed in a large cupboard across the room. “Pretty impressive, innit?”

“What am I even looking at? Is it just me, or is Draco’s taste all over the place?”

Nigel laughed, in a surprisingly wicked low-belly rumble. “Yeah, he likes a little bit of everything. Especially when it helps him to pick up Muggles.”

Harry didn’t ask for details, but his ears were a little pinker than usual when he took his first sip of the Cosmo Nigel offered to him. It flooded his mouth in a burst of sweetness and cranberry-citrus flavor. “That’s pretty good, thanks.”

“It was nothing. I ought to thank you, really, for putting up with me and my nonsense at Harrods. I feel like I become a different person when I work there, much snarkier than usual. I didn’t mean to offend.”

Harry was gratified, and grudgingly offered him a smile. “I did think you had crossed the line that day. But I appreciate you buying me all those clothes, you really didn’t have to.”

Nigel titched, stepped back a little and admired his handiwork. “Any handsome friend of Draco’s deserves a little extra attention. Oh yes, I think we did very well. The green cardigan complements your eyes perfectly.” His gaze swept lower, until he reached Harry’s feet. “Where on earth did you get those socks?”

Harry was about to launch into the story of Mrs. Weasley’s endless knitting when Draco entered the room, hoisting a large platter of finger foods that included a plate each of shrimp and oysters. “I went with a seafood theme tonight, hope that’s all right for you both.”

There were no objections, and it was not long before they sat down in the dining room across the hall and dug in. Harry thought of asking him about the record collection, but decided not to in case it brought up the subject of “picking up Muggles” again. Instead they ended up talking about fashion, and what had prompted Wizarding and Muggle fashion themes to diverge so widely over time. Harry was surprised to find that he was actually intrigued by the topic, although he had far less to offer in the way of conversation than the others did.

Where he did have conversation to offer, was on flying. Nigel wanted to hear all about his glory days of playing for Gryffindor, and Harry passed a very pleasant half hour reminiscing about it. He tried to be sensitive toward Draco and skimmed over the parts where he had beaten Slytherin, and he thought Draco might have noticed. He certainly had grown less guarded toward Harry, laughing much more easily at Harry’s tales and looking him over every now and then with an unaccustomed smile hovering around his lips. Harry could feel a growing desire to hear that laugh, and his mind couldn’t help wandering back to another, more vulnerable scene that he had witnessed earlier. The curiosity had come back with a vengeance.

His train of thought was thankfully interrupted by Nigel, who wanted to propose a game of cards. “Wizarding cards, of course, since Godric knows we don’t spend a lot of time with Wizards these days.” After some discussion, they landing upon Exploding Snap. Nigel wanted to make it strip Snap, but Harry’s shifty-eyed reaction and Draco’s eye-roll put the kibosh on that idea. Draco got up and left for the den to find the cards, and while Nigel gathered up the dishes to transport to the kitchen for cleaning, Harry felt compelled to follow Draco.

When he arrived at the den, music was playing softly from a Wizarding radio in the corner, something jazz-like. The lighting was dim yet he could see everything clearly, including the sight of Draco sorting through cards on one side of the couch, looking like he wouldn’t object to Harry sitting next to him. Harry sat, then watched in paralyzed wonder as Draco turned toward him and began to straighten his collar, his face mere inches from Harry’s. A tiny smile hovered about his mouth as he made eye contact, a stray lock of hair falling forward briefly over one eyebrow before he shook his head to flick it back into place. A few breathless moments later, Draco returned to his side of the couch and resumed shuffling, acting as if it was perfectly normal to invade Harry’s space in that way.

Perfectly normal, eh? Two could play at that game, Harry resolved, and he started to shuffle his own deck of cards. The music scintillated on in the background as they began to play.

~*~

Draco was not entirely sure where this might be going. Harry had followed him to the den, and what’s more, had put up with Draco’s not so subtle hint. As soon as he had finished adjusting his collar however, he was taken over by an unhabitual shyness and moved back to the matter at hand, which was to thoroughly beat Harry in cards. It didn’t seem to be working, however. Harry proved surprisingly fast and ended up with far more cards in the end than Draco could have anticipated. The Felici-Fizz he had drunk that night, it seemed, had made him overconfident.

After several rounds with both Harry and Nigel, he finally felt the effects start to wear off, and sleepiness overtook him. Harry was barely able to cover his own yawns, and Draco eventually stood up, with the intention of ushering him out the door, while Nigel gathered his own things upstairs. The night, and its magic, was almost over, and the prospect of the day ahead was beginning to weigh on Draco.

But Harry surprised him, yet again. “Hey Draco,” he said at the doorway, out of Nigel’s earshot, “this has been a fun night. Honestly, more than I could have expected.”

Draco inclined his head in agreement. “What do you know, maybe there’s something to be said for this friendship deal. Now that we are – you know – friends.” He could have cursed himself for how inane he sounded, but Harry didn’t seem to mind, in fact he was smiling.

“Say, d’you want to go for another fly?”

Draco watched him bite his lip after the question as if in regret and almost couldn’t stand it, how cute Harry looked. _I’m in trouble, aren’t I_ , he thought to himself, and had just begun to lean forward when Nigel appeared. “Night Harry, it was really great to properly meet you” he said as he jostled past. “Night Draco, call me.”

The interruption and Nigel’s abrupt departure made Draco change his mind about dismissing Harry just yet. Seeing him smile, for him alone, was more of a gift than he could have imagined.

“Yeah, why not?”

Harry perked back up once Draco had agreed. “Wanna go now?”

Draco couldn’t prevent his own eyes from going wide. “Er, isn’t it rather late?”

Harry shrugged. “I go out at all hours of night. We can try someplace different this time, if you like. Maybe you could brew a cuppa while I go down the street and Summon my broom?”

Draco couldn’t say no, not while Harry was looking at him like that, like he’d discovered new treasure.

~*~

Harry was a little shell-shocked at his own temerity. Had he really just asked Draco for another night fly, and had his feelings toward his former arch-nemesis changed so rapidly? Apparently yes, and Draco was into it. Harry felt a giddiness settle over him at the prospect of a new adventure with destination unknown.

It was but the work of the moment to walk to a discreet distance and Summon his broom, which came rushing toward him after several minutes had passed. Sometimes he felt like she was akin to an animal companion, and in that spirit, he stroked her tail of streamlined twigs lightly. “Good girl. Let’s go on another ride with Draco.”

Upon returning to the kitchen, Draco was ready with two cups of strong tea brewed and lightly steaming. Harry’s glasses fogged up at the first sip, but Draco anticipated his need and lightly tapped them with one finger. “Impervio.”

Draco’s proximity was doing curious things to Harry’s insides, but the moment passed quickly and they finished up their cups in no time at all.

“Why don’t we fly over the city this time, take in the nightscape? I know it’s late, but there should still be plenty of lights on.”

Draco nodded in agreement. “As long as you don’t think we’ll be seen.”

“Oh, I doubt we will. Sometimes I use my Invisibility Cloak, but only if there’s daylight out.”

“I can’t believe you actually have one of those. Do you know how incredibly rare they are?”

“Yeah, I know. Crazy that it’s survived this long, you have no idea what I got up to at Hogwarts with it.”

Draco wanted very much to know what he got up to, particularly if it involved nighttime trysts, but Harry had moved on. “Come on, let’s go flying.”

They left Draco’s house and sought a quiet place in the park down the street where they might take off without being noticed. This proved to be more difficult than they thought, but they finally came upon a stand of trees that were tall enough to mask the first moments of flight.

“D’you want to try steering this time, Draco?”

Draco felt a small thrill that the youngest Seeker of the past century trusted him enough to fly his broom, but reality quickly settled in. “Thanks for the offer, but it’d just buck me off if I tried. Part of the immersion terms.”

“Wow, they really have you on a tight leash, don’t they.”

“You have no idea.”

“All right then, you can sit behind me again, no worries.”

The flight was marvelous, even more so than circling Friendship Lake. Harry took them on a slow winding route along the Thames, looping around to look closer at places of particular visual interest. He even swooped in to inspect one of the capsules of the Millennium Wheel, which had gone dark in the early hours of morning. “Did you know that there’s no capsule number thirteen?” Draco informed him. “And that each capsule represents a different borough of the city?”

“You’re a right tour guide, you are,” Harry teased. “Next you’ll be telling me all about the latest exhibit at the Tate.” Draco smirked to himself, as he had indeed been contemplating his next daylight outing with Harry. So much the better if Harry thought of it first.

It was over at last, and they descended back to the park at some unknown hour, with daylight still far from the horizon. Draco sighed, not wanting to come down from the high of close contact with Harry, but it couldn’t be helped. He wondered if Harry felt the same.

It happened quite naturally, as Draco stepped down from his seat on the broom, with one arm still wrapped around Harry for balance. A slight turn of the neck, and their faces were in a heart-stopping moment of nearness. Draco resolved the tension with a kiss. A soft kiss, one that demanded nothing of Harry, yet suggested a world of possibility.

When Draco drew away, he wished he could see Harry’s expression better in the darkness, not knowing how his kiss had been received. Before he could ask, Harry’s hand reached around to grasp the back of his head firmly, and Harry’s lips returned, kissing with more fervor than grace. Draco’s surprise came out in an involuntary gasp, and Harry’s hand clutched more tightly, the other still holding his broom in place while he straddled it.

A strong breeze had picked up, and Draco reluctantly broke away from the kiss with a shiver. “Come on, Harry, let’s go inside.”

Harry’s hand drew away and touched his lips, still wet from Draco’s attention. “I – I’d better go. When can I see you again?”

His voice cracked a little at the end of the sentence, and Draco’s heart was flooded once more with unfamiliar feelings of endearment. “Whenever you like,” was his reply.

“I’ll spell you in the morning, how about that. You have the day off?”

Draco nodded. Just when he thought he couldn’t stand any more of this adorable alternate reality version of Harry, he said something silly to top it all off. “You know what this means, right? You’re my biggest F.A.N. – my Former Arch-Nemesis.” Draco didn’t need to see Harry’s face to know that he was grinning at his own joke.

“Berk,” he muttered, before pulling Harry in for one last kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one weekend, oh boy! The last chapter was pretty short, so I wanted to end the week with something that has a little more meat on the bone. ;)
> 
> I thought it would be cute to make a reference to the popularity of the Harry Potter series in the Muggle world, without mentioning the author’s actual name. I happen to disagree with JKR on some issues, but if any characterization of her sounds disparaging here, that was not my intention, just Draco’s (!).
> 
> The London Eye had just been opened in early 2001, and was still called the Millennium Wheel at that point. I think I covered all my bases, but as usual, correct me if I’m wrong about any historical details. Please don't be shy about leaving comments, as long as they are positive or constructive in nature. I like to know if people are enjoying my work or if there are specific ways I can improve my writing.


	6. In which more barriers are broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Draco go on a date. Contains explicit sexual activity, mixed with magic. Some light is shed on Draco’s past. Harry gets to cook again.

Harry could not rid Draco from his mind that night, after experiencing the bewitching combination of his kisses and his undivided attention. He wanted more of both in the worst possible way, even while he struggled to come to terms with his newfound feelings of attraction to someone like Draco. Not to mention someone who was already intimate with other men on a regular basis. But the hour was late, and he would have to get some sleep before connecting with his former arch-nemesis again.

He couldn’t help but chuckle in disbelief at his lame joke and Draco’s reaction, as delightful as it had been. Where had that impulse come from? Kissing aside, the real question on Harry’s mind was, did Draco view Harry as just another friend with side benefits? Or did he have different, more inscrutable designs on him?

As he went about the business of preparing for bed, Harry’s thoughts turned again and again towards the vision of Draco sprawled on his own bed, being devoured by someone else. Harry realized with deepening bewilderment that he didn’t just want to kiss Draco and see where it went. He longed to be Draco’s counterpart, to explore and to understand the secrets of his body and his mind, and the desire they called forth. Where had _that_ impulse come from, and where in holy hell was his Seeker’s curiosity about to lead him?

He was still a bit bothered by it all once he got to bed, but the tension in his groin ached to be released, and so his temporary solution was to indulge in a delicious wank, casting a lubricating charm to make his hand slippery enough for the task. He came in no time, despite his tiredness, and his last thought before drifting off to sleep was, _Godric help me when I see him again._

~*~

Daylight arrived, and Harry slept the sleep of the dead until close to ten-thirty. He forced himself into the shower and emerged squeaky clean and partly satiated after a second wank. As was his usual wont since Draco had re-entered his life, he spent far too much time trying to arrange his hair just right, before giving up and spelling him at the stroke of eleven by the church bell down the street.

“Morning,” he yawned when Draco’s face appeared before him. He looked much more awake than Harry felt.

“Morning Harry. Glad to see you made it home in one piece.”

 _Barely_ , Harry thought to himself, but decided not to mention how turned on he was by last night’s events. Instead, he reminded Draco that they had plans to make for their next outing. They traded ideas back and forth until they landed on visiting a new exhibit on Surrealist art at the Tate Modern. Harry thought the subject of the exhibit – “Desire Unbound” – was a bit suggestive, reflecting that it might put them both in a frame of mind to kiss each other again.

The prospect both terrified and elated him, which was why he found himself dragging his feet when it was finally time to meet Draco outside the museum. He tried on all of his new clothing before settling on a cream-colored v-neck jumper over a cobalt blue shirt, then Apparated to Bankside. The weather was bright but chilly as he ran across the street to the museum, narrowly avoiding being run over by a tour bus.

“Harry, over here!” Draco waved at him, his pale hair fluttering in the breeze.

Harry’s heart rate ratcheted up, and he took a deep breath to steady his nerves. _Here goes possibly the most awkward date of my life._

He needn’t have worried, as Draco took one of his arms and leaned in to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. He seemed to instinctively know that Harry might not be ready for anything public just yet. Harry wondered if he had gained some experience in discretion through his string of Muggle lovers.

The exhibit did indeed turn out to be erotically themed, although not in a way Harry had expected. The Surrealists had a truly bizarre take on what might be interpreted as sensual or perverse, and he found himself paused more than once before a work of art without knowing what he was supposed to be gathering from it.

Salvador Dalí’s _Lobster Telephone_ was the last straw, after imagining what Ron’s response would be, and it left Harry sniggering for several minutes afterward, despite Draco’s repeated shushing. It wasn’t until they got to a quieter gallery with no one around that Draco pulled him aside and hissed, “What’s going on, Harry – you’re acting like a complete idiot. Keep in mind that I have a membership here, and that people might _recognize_ me. I didn’t come all this way just to be thrown out for dragging in some pleb off the street.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Harry held up both hands in truce. “I’m just a bit out of my depth, that’s all. The last museum I went to was in Dijon, with Hermione, oh, a year ago? And it was nothing like this, just tapestries and stone carvings and an owl that people touched for good luck.”

“Well why on earth did you agree to come then?”

“Because you said you like this kind of thing! And because I wanted to try something different.”

Draco stared at him. “You’re not just talking about the museum, are you?”

Harry’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Yeah, well how do you expect me to react? Last night we were, you know, _kissing_ , which, I’ll remind you, is not something I’m used to doing with someone who has – “

“Balls?” Draco offered, one corner of his mouth twitching upward.

“Draco, I’m serious! This is very new territory for me, I hope you’re okay with that.”

“Of course I’m okay with it. I kissed you first, after all.” And he leaned in toward Harry as if to say, “I’ll do it again if you want.”

Harry did want, but not there, not then. “Let’s wait a bit,” he said while gently placing a restraining hand on Draco’s collarbone. “Maybe have a bite to eat in the café, once we finish with the exhibit?”

Draco crinkled his nose. “Most museum food is mediocre and hideously overpriced, you know.”

Harry shrugged and resumed looking at a portrait on the wall. This one was nice, a softly focused image in black and white of a model looking away from the photographer, head tipped back in a gesture of abandon. He thought the model looked a bit like Draco, with his long neck, elegant jawline and soft waves of blond hair.

Draco noticed how he lingered over the portrait and came up behind Harry, nestling his chin against one shoulder as he wrapped his arms around him. “You like the Man Ray, do you?”

Harry felt clumsy, out of his element, and insanely turned on by Draco’s nearness. He even smelled good, the wanker, like the sweetness of rain after a dry sunny day. “What’s a man ray, is it some gay thing I don’t know about?”

Draco broke into stifled laughter then, leaning his forehead into the back of Harry’s head as he quaked. Harry really didn’t mind, but he did want to know what had set it off, after Draco had told _him_ off for laughing. When Draco recovered and explained that it was the name of the artist who had taken the photo, he blushed at his mistake. “Sorry, I guess I am a pleb after all.”

Draco didn’t have anything to say to that, but the comforting squeeze he gave to Harry’s upper arm as they moved on to the next gallery made him feel better.

He seemed surprised when Harry treated them to lattes and biscotti later.

“I didn’t think you were a coffee drinker,” he commented, after requesting decaf. “Not much of one myself.”

“Only on days when I feel under-slept.”

“I’m sorry, I knew we shouldn’t’ve stayed up so late.” Draco did look mildly penitent, and Harry’s eyes were drawn to his lips, steamed coral by the warmth of his drink. The memories of the night before surged back into his brain, and he was suddenly very interested in getting a better look at Draco with no clothes on. Or possibly finding out what those lips felt like on other parts of his body. Harry could feel a rising reaction between his legs, and hastened to find a way to guide his mind away from treacherous territory.

He found a compromise by reaching for one of Draco’s hands and holding it beneath the table. “No worries, you definitely have nothing to be sorry about. Although you were responsible for some of my sleeplessness.” His smile was sheepish, and Draco seemed to know what he was referring to because he squeezed Harry’s hand and smiled back, with just a hint of lust.

Harry started a little when Draco scootched his chair over to sit closer to him, close enough that their thighs were touching. It soon became all too clear what Draco’s intentions were, and Harry found his erection was swiftly making a comeback as Draco’s hand trailed across his trousers. Harry didn’t know whether it was Draco’s insouciant expression as he fondled Harry that did him in, or the quiet assurance of his hand’s movements, but he did know that he wanted Draco to himself in a bad way, preferably in a room with less people.

“What do you say we get out of here?” Draco finally leaned over and whispered in Harry’s ear.

Harry couldn’t agree fast enough.

~*~

Harry had scarcely time to let Draco in the door to his place at the top of the stairs before their lips met, drawn fiercely together as if by magnetic force. They fumbled to remove the heavier layers of clothing, letting them fall abandoned to the floor in a trail behind them as they made their way into the bedroom. Reaching the bed, they finally separated, breathing heavily. “Should we – “ Harry gasped out before Draco was upon him again, nudging Harry over onto the bed until landing on top with an arm over either shoulder.

“Wait – wait – Draco, I want to tell you something.” Draco paused and gave him a long look rife with hunger that would not be satiated easily, then rolled over to one side to see what Harry would say. His arousal was painfully obvious, and Harry felt a matching flicker of desire in his own groin, but willed himself to hold back, at least for the time being. He wanted to clear up a few things first. “It might be a bit obvious, but… I don’t really know what I’m doing. With this,” he waved one hand vaguely over the bed, “and with you.”

Draco just stared at him, and Harry suddenly felt very awkward indeed. Was he comparing him to Nigel in his head, and did he find Harry wanting? Just when he thought he had completely bollixed everything up, Draco smiled in a sultry sort of way and brushed a hand along Harry’s arm to land on his waist. “Feeling a bit nervous about me, are you?”

Harry gnawed on his lower lip and nodded. This was worse than his first time with Ginny – at least they were both virgins, although Ginny had had more of a repertoire of moves than Harry. He colored a bit when he thought of how clueless he had been, and how clueless he must seem now to Draco.

But Draco didn’t seem to be bothered by it, in fact he was looking Harry up and down with a new level of interest, like he was a particularly delicious specimen of crème brulée.

“So is Nigel your – “ Harry began, but Draco cut him off with a hand over his mouth, as he leaned in to press the entire warm length of his body against Harry’s.

“Nigel’s not my anything, let’s just try each other out for size and see where this goes.”

 _This_ turned out to be another long, glorious kiss, and Harry felt every nerve ending come alive in a symphony of sweet desire, sending any form of rational thought scattering to the winds. Draco’s arms were firmly wrapped around him, and he could feel a peak of pressure building between their entangled legs. He suddenly wanted very much to know what it felt like to touch another man at his most sensitive point, and so tentatively trailed along Draco’s backside, squeezing the firm muscle there before circling around to palm the fly of his trousers.

Draco’s breath hitched a little, and Harry grinned into their kiss. “Can I – “

“Yes, of course you can, you tosser.” Harry felt his heart rate increase as he fumbled Draco’s fly open and slipped in under the waistband of his pants, taking him into his hand. It felt familiar, like wanking, but more thrilling because he didn’t know what kind of reaction to expect. He was flying blind, with only Draco to guide him through the motions to a safe and satisfying landing.

Well, not _completely_ blind. Curious, he pulled back for a bit and watched Draco as he continued to stroke him up and down at an unhurried pace. Draco’s eyes were closed and his hair was falling across his forehead a little, mouth slightly open as he leaned into Harry’s touch. He closed it as soon as he realized that Harry was watching him, and made an impatient motion with his head. “Come on then, let’s get the rest of these clothes off.”

Harry had an idea, based on something he used to do with Ginny, when they were living together and feeling frisky. He wasn’t sure how it would go over with Draco, but Draco had let him put a hand down his pants after all, and he was feeling daring. “Do you trust me?” The question came out more intense than he had intended, and Harry quickly followed up with, “I’d like to try something, if you don’t mind letting me take over the undressing part. It might feel a bit – weird, at first. But I promise it won’t put you in danger or anything.”

Draco looked a question at him, but seeing Harry’s eagerness to please, and very much wanting to get back to feeling each other up sans clothing, he nodded assent. Harry prodded him into a seated position, sneaking in a kiss or two in the process, then began the first step. It involved wandless magic, in which he had become secretly adept after returning from his walk through the afterlife with Dumbledore, but he hadn’t done it in earnest for a while.

Stretching out one hand with the palm facing Draco, he silently spoke the _Wingardium Leviosa_ incantation to himself, and was gratified to see Draco slowly lifting until he was floating over the bed, as if gravity had been temporarily suspended in the room. Gently, oh so gently, Harry pushed him until his back was almost flush against the opposite wall, still levitating half a meter above the baseboard.

“Harry, how are you –“ Draco started, then stopped in amazement as Harry began magically removing Draco’s remaining layers of clothing. An unbuttoning of the shirt revealed that Draco was slender with just a hint of definition around the abdomen and upper chest. Draco shivered and tensed as Harry concentrated on removing each sleeve, licking his lips in anticipation. Harry could see a faint webbing of scar tissue where he had once injured Draco, and resolved to pay extra attention to that part of his anatomy in the near future. But for now, he wanted to draw out the slow agony of undressing just a little bit longer.

Speaking of agony… He felt an urge to put a hand down his own trousers as he removed Draco’s, and with Draco’s eyes widening as he watched, he went with it, wrapping his fingers around himself just as he had touched Draco moments before. No need to keep himself waiting, although he had no intention of coming just yet.

‘Damn you, Potter,” Draco whispered, feasting upon the sight of him. Draco was almost completely exposed now, wearing a pair of black silk boxers and nothing else, and Harry could see the outline of him aching to be released. He was only too happy to oblige by carefully lowering Draco back down toward the ground. Touching himself while Draco was looking at him like that was making him harder than he had ever been in his life.

Draco seemed to be in a similar condition, and pounced on Harry at the end of the bed as soon as he had landed. “Enough of this,” he growled at him as he went about the serious business of pulling off Harry’s shirt and trousers, all while kissing a line along his collarbone, and ending with a possessive bite to his shoulder. “You have the weirdest imagination, I swear, but that little trick was really – “

His voice trailed off as Harry tumbled sideways on the bed to tackle his next experiment with all of the enthusiasm and grace of a spaniel chasing after its quarry. Harry thought he’d have more self-control about it, but once he got started with something new and exciting and after way too many months of no sex, it was hard to stop. Draco had put up with him so far and he was still feeling daring, so he decided he would like to see what Draco tasted like.

First, a prophylactic charm, another reflex from his blackout party days. Then, a wordless look up at Draco to ascertain consent, followed by a lowering of the head, drawing back silk to have a good look at him. Harry thought that Draco had a very nice cock, all pink and velvety smooth and longer than he had imagined. Even with no personal frame of reference, he could remember what it felt like to be on the receiving end and did his best, giving him a long, lingering lick before taking him into his mouth and seeing how far back in his throat he could go. Draco’s flustered reactions made it more than worth any mild discomfort to Harry.

“Fuck, Harry, that feels amazing.” His legs had begun to give, and Harry cheered inwardly as Draco sank back down to sprawl next to him on the bed. He sucked Draco off a few more times before removing him from his mouth and kissing a trail along his inner thigh. He was hungry for more full-body contact now, and crept back upwards as he pressed light kisses every which way across the web of scars on Draco’s chest, clipping one beaded nipple lightly with his teeth. Draco’s sharp intake of breath and clutching at his shoulders brought him all the way back up to capture Draco’s lips once more with his own.

In a surprisingly strong motion, Draco flipped them over to begin a predatory descent upon Harry. Harry closed his eyes and could have wept with anticipation as Draco’s hands drew ever lower. Yet he was unprepared for the shock of warmth and wetness he felt as Draco drew back his pants and took him into his mouth in turn, and he gasped a little, his eyes fluttering open to look down at him. He had received many blowjobs before, but this one had the added benefit of Draco watching his every reaction, his grey eyes partly obscured by a fringe that had developed in the last several minutes.

Harry couldn’t help laughing a little as he ran his hand through Draco’s hair – _it’s almost as bad as mine right now,_ he thought – then was overcome with moans of pleasure as Draco picked up the pace, somehow still maintaining eye contact throughout. Eagerly, as if he wanted Harry as close to his Adam’s apple as possible, he devoured him, until Harry could feel the tingle of impending orgasm. “Agh – no – not yet, I want to see you come first.”

Draco’s reaction was to slow down and shift position so that he was able to pleasure himself as he kept working on Harry with his mouth. Harry felt vaguely disappointed and angled his head so he could see what was going on within Draco’s grasp, but soon decided that he needed Draco closer to him, now. “Come here,” he said, propping himself up on his elbows. “This is all so new to me, I want to see everything.”

Draco seemed hesitant, so Harry gently took him under the chin and guided his face back up to kissing level. It wasn’t so different than being with a woman after all, if he ignored the slight rasp of stubble and extra hair, the lack of soft curves, and the brash layer of masculine lust that enveloped the entire experience. But why would he want to ignore any of this, the gift of self-discovery and of finding new inroads of pleasure with someone as beautiful as Draco? “Godric, this feels so good,” he whispered, before kissing him once on the nose and reaching down between Draco’s legs yet again. Draco’s expression was lax, unfocused, clouded by desire, and Harry relished the deep red hue his lips had taken while sucking Harry off.

He wanted to give as good as he had gotten, and so cast a lubricating charm to make his hand ready for Draco’s pleasure. It was more difficult this time, figuring out which direction and pressure to take with his strokes so that it hit Draco’s nerve endings just right, but Draco didn’t seem to be complaining as he closed his eyes again and threw back his head to expose his neck. Harry traced his tongue along its contours, working his well-oiled fingers until Draco was shaking and his breath came in short huffs. Right before tipping over the edge, his eyes snapped open and fixed upon Harry’s, which had been open all along as he watched him drown. “Harry - I – _ahhhhh_ ,” he jerked out with a groan at the end, tensing up for several seconds before collapsing back onto the bedcovers.

Harry followed his trajectory, wrapping one leg possessively around Draco’s as he took himself back in hand and increased the pressure and speed of his strokes. Draco, swiftly coming to, pushed Harry’s hand away so he could bend down and resume working on Harry with his mouth, and this time, Harry was ready to let go. With gusto. The sounds that came forth from his throat were involuntary, as he poured out every last drop of pent-up lust into Draco’s throat, but Harry was too carried away to be embarrassed in the moment.

The wave of bliss subsided, and Harry was left uncertain in its wake. _Not bad for my first queer encounter_ , he thought to himself, before turning to one side and seeking out Draco’s warmth. Draco had curled away from him, facing toward the window, and Harry instinctively snuggled up against his back, receiving a faceful of fine blond hair. It was remarkable how close in height they were, although Draco was longer in the legs and Harry had put on more muscle in recent years. His left hand landed on Draco’s hip, which he stroked absent-mindedly, marveling at the smoothness of Draco’s skin. He noticed for the first time a scarring on the inside of Draco’s left forearm, but decided to ask about it later, when they weren’t so spent.

Draco’s hand swung up to stop him. “I’m ticklish,” he explained. “And I don’t do cuddling usually.” He turned around to face Harry, still a little bit flushed. “That was fun though.”

Harry’s laugh came out in a chuff of air. “Yeah, that’s an understatement. Ticklish, eh?” His fingers flexed for the attack, but Draco beat him to the chase by straddling him and pinning both arms with his legs. Harry felt pleasantly trapped.

Draco didn’t say anything, just looked at Harry for a few minutes. The expression in his eyes was unfathomable, and Harry began to wonder if something was wrong. His fears were allayed when Draco’s face lifted into a smirk, and he bent down to kiss Harry. Harry could taste himself on Draco’s lips, with just a hint of salt and musk. Remembering where Draco’s mouth had been moments before brought a fire back to his lower belly, and he shivered at the thought of going at it again. But first, he wanted to talk.

“Look, you know that I’m not used to being with men. I’ve never even so much as kissed anyone before you.” Harry’s gaze dropped a little, and he swallowed, mouth dry. “I still don’t know if I would call myself gay, but I do know that I really enjoyed this.” He shifted a little to push Draco off his chest and sit up cross-legged on the bed, which hadn’t had time to lose its covers before he and Draco had thrown themselves upon it. “I hope that’s okay with you, that I have so little experience with men.”

Draco shook his head slowly in response, but still didn’t say anything. Harry reached out one hand to cup the side of his face. “Draco? I need a little more communication for this to work.” He stared into Draco’s eyes as if willing him to speak. “I need to know that you’re still on board with not knowing where this is going. And I need to know if there’s anyone else we should be thinking about.”

Draco flinched a little, but his only response was to cover Harry’s hand with his own for a moment before turning away and getting up from the bed. As he retrieved his clothing, Harry watched him with concern, mixed with admiration at how gracefully he moved. He didn’t understand Draco’s silence, but he could still enjoy the moment by watching him in the dying light while he waited.

~*~

If Harry could have opened a window into Draco’s mind, he would have found a miniature tug-of-war under way.

 _What on earth have I gotten myself into?_ Draco thought to himself frantically as he pulled on his trousers. _This is not what I was expecting at all. He is undeniably hot, and I want this to keep going, but look at him, he is so fucking earnest I can’t even stand it._

Draco shook out his shirt and tried to calm himself by reflecting further. _His go-for-it Gryffindor qualities really shine in bed, and so do his Slytherin qualities of delaying gratification, to be honest. But I really don’t know what to do with the cuddling, and the need to talk about everything. I don’t know how to be intimate without dismissing them afterward. Why can’t he be more like Nigel, and just accept that we’re not meant to be exclusive or anything?_

Remembering his parents and society’s general expectations for him, his thoughts turned in a more pragmatic direction. _Do I really want to have to explain to anyone why I’m suddenly swanning around with the Boy Who Lived? He may be a celebrity in hiding, and unity seems to be a popular theme among Wizarding society right now, but what would everyone really think if I openly shared that I’m gay and involved with my most-hated enemy from school? How could I live with myself?_

His inner monologue was interrupted by Harry, who was looking at him with a slight frown. _He really is too sweet for me, and so eager to please. I have to end this, now, before it goes anywhere it shouldn’t._

He cleared his throat and began to make his case.

“Look, Harry, I appreciate that you were willing to step outside of your comfort zone and have a little fun with me. Hell, it was more than a little, you should really consider going gay full-time.“ Harry’s smile curled up briefly, then faded as Draco went on. “But really, who are we trying to fool? I’m not the type to stay committed for long, and you’re not going to want to stay in hiding forever, and I don’t want any kind of publicity that might displease my family. What would be the point of carrying on?”

Harry’s eyes flashed wide, and he stood up from the bed, nakedness forgotten. “Merlin’s beard, Draco. All I asked was for some kind of response after the most incredible afternoon I’ve had in a while. It’s not a bloody proposal.” His arms were crossed over his enviable chest – under different circumstances, Draco could have written an ode to the definition carved across every muscle – and Draco sensed that Harry was about to launch into a monologue of his own.

But Harry surprised him, yet again, by keeping it short and to the point. “The way I see it, Draco, we have a fantastic opportunity to change the course of history, even if we’re the only ones who know about it. I come from Wizarding blood too, not to mention that Sirius Black was my godfather, and I think we might owe it to them to make amends. Can’t you see?”

Draco could, oddly enough, but he chose to keep his feelings inside and smiled pityingly at him instead, wanting to keep the upper hand. “I can see, but I don’t believe.”

Harry had finally registered the fact that he was still unclothed, and started to get dressed in a fit of pique. Draco could feel the unaccustomed upswell of affection traveling from his heart to his throat, and fought not to show it. _I’m really in trouble, if I turn as soft as him._

~*~

Harry did not like the direction this was going, and he had had enough of Draco’s stonewalling. _That’s what I get for being open and honest with him,_ Harry grumbled to himself as he dressed and waved a hand over the covers to clean them. _Fucking Slytherin._

At that precise moment, his eyes landed on Draco’s arm again, still bare as he buckled up his belt. The pattern of scarring revealed itself as the faint outline of a Dark Mark, long inactive, yet lingering like the trace of a bad dream, and Harry suddenly remembered an earlier Draco, alone and terrified in a bathroom at Hogwarts before Harry had torn into his chest with that vicious spell. It occurred to Harry that some part of Draco might still be stuck in that place, unable to unleash his innermost feelings around others, and he felt a twinge of empathy. Impulsively, he stepped forward to grab him from behind, placing a long, wet kiss on the side of his neck.

Draco looked back in puzzlement. “What was that for?”

Harry looked up at him through his eyelashes, then let go. “Nothing, just sorry for being an insensitive idiot. If you want this to stay on the down-low for now, I can handle it. You’re probably right, anyway.”

“D’you mean that?” Draco’s mouth was set at a vulnerable angle, and Harry bent in to kiss it.

“Of course I do,” he breathed, after the kiss was over. “I’m having too much fun to get hung up on something as silly as planning for the future right now. Although I do rather hate the idea of sharing you with anyone.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about that, Nigel is very understanding and wouldn’t want to interfere. You won’t be able to tell your friends about us though. Not Wizarding ones, anyhow, ones who could spread rumors.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “Not even Hermione? I tell her everything.”

 _Especially not Granger_ , Draco thought, but stopped short before saying so to Harry. It had suddenly occurred to him that he might be at an unfair advantage. He did have Nigel to talk to, after all, who had definitely picked up on the not-so-subtle cues of interest building up between him and Harry during the course of the evening. And didn’t Draco also have a therapist, even if she was a Muggle?

It was for this reason that he gave in, against his wilier Slytherin instincts. “Well, all right. As long as you don’t mention my name and as long as you don’t think she’ll spread the word to anyone, like Weasley.”

“I’ll have to think about it, they are awfully close. What about you, do you have anyone to talk to?” Harry had been curious about whether Draco had maintained contact with any of his old school friends, or if they had all gone the way of former Death Eaters and scattered.

Draco had had enough of this conversation. “Let’s have something to eat first, I could eat a hippogriff.”

Harry winced at the expression. “Some of my friends are hippogriffs, I’ll have you know.”

“Of course. Of course Harry Potter has hippogriffs for friends, what I was thinking?”

Harry snorted and punched him lightly in the arm. “That’s quite enough from you, Mr. Malfoy. Let me cook something up, won’t be a moment.”

“Can’t we just order out?”

“Sure, but why would you want to miss out on my fabulous cooking?”

Draco was hungry, but had to concede to Harry’s point, and followed him out to the kitchen. “Where did you learn to cook like that, anyway?”

Harry put an apron on before responding. “Mrs. Weasley, believe it or not. I know you don’t like Ron’s family very much, but she’s been like a second mum to me. Or a first, given that I never really knew mine.”

Draco didn’t know what to say to this revelation, but Harry didn’t seem to expect a response. “Besides, Ginny would have never forgiven me if I hadn’t started cooking for her when she first joined the Harpies. They train for hours every day, and trust me, it builds up an appetite.”

Draco’s imagination went all sorts of ways, and he suspected Harry’s had too. The reminder that Harry had a life that was very different from Draco’s was a thorn in his side, and he wasn’t sure he had grown enough to accept the sting.

“But enough about me. You still haven’t answered my question about your Wizarding friends. Besides Nigel. Who I still don’t really understand.”

Draco had hoped he wouldn’t bring this topic up again, but there was nothing to be done but tell the truth, as unsavory as it might taste. “Nigel is a bit of an outlier, and we do have a friendship of sorts, but I think he wants to move on and try something different while he takes a break from drinking." He paused and let Harry take that in. "The reason I didn’t answer your question is because I don’t, really. Have friends. Wizarding or otherwise. Just a network of casual acquaintances.”

Harry paused mid-movement, looking toward Draco with wide eyes. “You’re joking. What about Goyle, or Zabini? Parkinson?”

Draco shrugged and leaned against one side of the doorway. “They all distanced themselves from me when the Dark Lord fell. Some of them even earlier, when they saw how far I had gone into the Dark Arts.” He smiled bitterly. “They are Slytherins after all, and what do we do when confronted with disgrace? We slither away, as quickly and quietly as possible.”

Harry nodded, holding a spatula in one hand while something sizzled in the background. “What about your family, how are they taking your magical hiatus?”

Draco had hoped he wouldn’t bring that up either, but Harry was like a Crup with a bone once he got going. “Well, you know my father was in Azkaban for a little while, right?” He skipped over the part where Voldemort had broken him out of prison and made his life a living hell, and tried to express himself as neutrally as possible. “He never quite managed to rebuild his life once the Dark Lord was vanquished, although Mother did her best. I still haven’t seen him since he left.”

He tucked a lock of hair pensively behind one ear before continuing. “After I finished out my eighth year at Hogwarts and passed my N.E.W.T.s, she asked me if I would be willing to make a sacrifice for them, so that they, and I, might be able to re-enter Wizarding society again someday without being treated like pariahs. I agreed. It took some string-pulling, and some negotiating with the Ministry after I was acquitted – you remember that trial – but they finally landed on an arrangement with Ilvermorny that might show that the Malfoy family was no longer a menace to Wizarding society. I would carry out a year with no magic outside of my home in London, and complete a course of Muggle Studies to go along with it. My father would continue to remain in voluntary exile. I still don’t know where he is, but that’s the way he wanted it.”

Draco didn’t realize he was holding his breath until Harry approached him to give him a hug. He felt removed from the situation, as if he’d forgotten how to be a living human being, but he accepted Harry’s hug anyway because he didn’t want to hurt Harry’s feelings. _Should I be crying now?_ he wondered. _Would a normal person, or a person with good intentions like Harry, be showing all kinds of emotions, or is this lack of reaction in itself normal?_

“That sounds like a lot to hold,” said Harry, breaking away from the hug and looking Draco in the eyes. “I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, yet here you are, carrying on as best you know how.” He turned back toward the stove and lowered the flame, giving something in a pot a stir. “Our break – er, meal is almost ready, could you get some plates out of the cabinet over there?”

Draco was touched by Harry’s gesture, but thankful for the change in topic, as he wasn’t anywhere near ready to dig through that basket of snakes. The meal turned out to be delicious again, a ragout served over polenta with a side of asparagus. Draco wondered to himself if Harry knew about the side effects of asparagus, but he needn’t have worried, as Harry pulled out a small bottle of Digester-All potion and two shot glasses. “I take it so I don’t have weird-smelling piss afterward,” he told Draco by way of explanation.

Draco smiled archly and poured a shot for himself. “I take it so my sperm don’t taste dreadful.”

Harry choked on his food and dove for his falling napkin, still coughing on his way up. He waved away Draco’s offer to bang him on the back, and gradually returned to a state of pink-cheeked calm. “Up until recently, I don’t think I would have thought of that.”

“Look at you, Harry. So innocent and so ready to be corrupted.” Draco meant to sound jokey, but Harry’s nervous look made him realize that he was indeed still very innocent. “I mean that in the best and most pervy way possible.”

“Yeah, I know there’s a lot I still don’t know about. One of my co-workers in Auror training tried to explain it to me once, but I tuned him out after the word ‘bunghole’ came up a few too many times.”

Draco laughed to himself, remembering how all sorts of misinformation had circulated in the Slytherin dorms about gay sex, before he found out from Blaise how good it could feel. “It’s fine, Harry, we’ll get there when you’re ready. I will tell you this, it’s a whole other world of fun that would be a shame to miss out on.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “If you say so.”

“I do.”

Their meal finished and their appetites curbed for the time being, Harry leaned back against the couch and reached out a hand to play with Draco’s hair. “How can you stand to grow it so long? Mind, I’m not complaining, but if my hair grew like that, I’d be itching to cut it all off.”

Draco blinked at Harry’s question, considering. “I suppose I never thought of doing otherwise. All the men – and women – in my family tend to grow their hair long as they get older. Especially the blond ones.”

“Well, not so for mine. As far as I can tell, my dad had the same messy hair. Maybe my mum’s was nicer, kind of like Ginny’s.”

Draco sniffed. “I suppose that’s why you might have found Ginny attractive, then? Hair like Mum’s, and all that?”

“Hey, back off on Ginny. She’s a wonderful person, we just couldn’t make it work after – after I went off the deep end, so to speak. And it was hard with me at the Ministry and her in the Harpies, I barely got to see her at all.”

“Do you think you will want to go back to being an Auror?”

“I haven’t completely abandoned the possibility. I think I was actually pretty good at it, when I wasn’t boozing and turning up unconscious in foreign countries. I just couldn’t stand the weight of being, you know, me. The great Harry Potter, who defeated the Dark Lord not once, but twice. And died a little along the way.”

Draco felt further drawn into Harry’s world and wanted to understand more of the landscape. “If you could completely let go of that identity, rather than just going in temporary hiding like you are now, would you do it?”

Harry whistled. “Well, isn’t that the million-dollar question. It’s a Muggle TV reference,” he explained in response to Draco’s blank look. “I don’t really know how to answer that, to be honest. I mean, sure, on the one hand it’s easy, if I had the opportunity to do my life over and have my parents live to take care of me without being famous Harry Potter, I would do it. But with Voldemort, and the way things were in the Wizarding world when I was born, I don’t think it would have worked any other way. So from that perspective, no, I would still choose to be Harry Potter. I’m not sure if that makes any kind of sense.”

His vaguely anxious look tugged at Draco’s heart, and prompted him to pull up his feet and lean into Harry like a cat demanding to be petted. Harry’s outstretched arm tightened around him, and his shoulder proved to be a solid, comforting place to rest one’s head. Draco closed his eyes for just a moment and submitted to the feeling of Harry’s hand stroking his hair. He felt so treacley, it was a wonder he hadn’t stuck to anything.

But Harry didn't seem to mind. “Do you know, I think this is the first time I’ve really had any physical contact for a while. Not just the sex part - there hasn’t been anyone to touch since my time with Ginny, not really. I didn’t have the heart to go out looking after all the trouble I caused with carrying on the way I did.” He paused, and his voice came back a little rougher around the edges. “I definitely wouldn’t have thought it would be you.”

 _Nor would I_ , thought Draco sleepily, before drifting into a weightless dream state. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so relaxed and at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major kudos to the lovely Kbrick for being my beta on this chapter. As my first stab at writing an explicit scene, it needed some extra love, hence the long wait between postings. Check out Kbrick's works if you haven’t already, they're chock-full of Drarry deliciousness!
> 
> The Surrealist exhibit at the Tate Modern opened in October of 2001, and I had quite a bit of fun researching it. The museum website has photos of the works of art mentioned - Dali’s Lobster Phone and Man Ray’s Lee Miller (Neck) - if you want to see what perplexed and captivated Harry so much. :D The NY Times also had a good write-up about the exhibit, for you art nerds out there:  
> https://www.nytimes.com/2001/10/21/arts/art-architecture-how-surrealists-made-a-movement-of-love-and-sex.html  
> (Lee Miller was a woman, by the way, but Harry doesn’t see that in the photo. Perhaps a reflection of how blurry the lines between genders can be).
> 
> The good-luck owl thing in Dijon is real, spoken from personal experience. As always, there’s a website to explain it in depth:  
> https://www.atlasobscura.com/places/the-magic-owl-of-dijon-dijon-france.


	7. In which Hermione is overly helpful and Harry is persuaded to dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s turning out to be a looooong day for Draco and Harry. More explicit sexual activity, and an important conversation between Harry and Hermione, take place.

Harry couldn’t believe how surreal and precious it felt to have Draco Malfoy sleeping on his shoulder, and so soon after their glorious first tumble. But the feeling was short-lived. He was due for his weekly chat with Hermione, and didn’t want to arouse suspicion by not showing up. After some mental dithering, he conjured a Body Pillow spell and left Draco half-lying on the couch, propped up as if by an invisible Harry shape. Draco barely stirred, and Harry hoped he wouldn’t wake up before he finished the call. _So much for not doing cuddles._

Once that was taken care of, Harry pulled on an extra jumper, checked the mirror to see if there were any leftover traces of snogging Draco, and climbed through the skylight to the roof with his wand between his teeth. The window was big enough that he could see below if Draco got up and went anywhere. With the sun just beginning its final descent into night, Harry activated the com-spell, only to panic and end it before she could pick up.

 _Godric, what do I tell her?_ Harry thought to himself. _I know she’s my best friend, but even her tolerance must have some bounds. Accepting that I’ve started dating men is a lot to ask, let alone that I’ve started with Draco Malfoy._ No matter how he thought about it, he couldn’t break his promise to Draco and reveal his identity just yet, and so he resolved to only share the bare minimum. Which still took courage.

Harry mustered up as much as he could and cast again. This time, Hermione picked up right away, as if she had been waiting for him. “Harry! Something went funny earlier, were you not able to get through?” Before he could answer, she carried on with a note of exasperation in her voice. “It might have something to do with the product Ron’s been developing, which has a disruptive magical shield component. He and Mr. Weasley have been tinkering forever, I’m just about ready to hex them both.”

Under normal circumstances, Harry would have prodded further and had a good laugh over Ron’s latest antics. Instead, Harry found himself speechless with dread. In a burst of willpower, he blurted out, “Hermione, I’ve started seeing someone.”

Hermione’s reaction was swift and positive. “Oh Harry, that’s wonderful. Is it someone we both know, or is it someone you met in the Muggle world?”

Giddy with relief that he had at least told her part of the truth, Harry kept going. “Oh no, nothing like that. Just someone I met at a bar. Without drinking,” he hastened to add. He took a deep breath. “The thing is, they’re different than the type of person I usually date.”

Hermione’s hand hovered toward her mouth, as if in suspense. “What are you saying? Is it – surely you’re not seeing someone dangerous, are you?”

 _Depends on how you define dangerous_ , Harry thought. “No, Hermione, I’m not seeing anyone dangerous. What does that even mean?” He shook his head quickly. “Never mind, don’t answer that. The thing I’m trying to say is – that – well, that I’m seeing a him. A man.”

Hermione did not react in any way that he’d dreaded. Instead of showing shock or concern, or – Helga forbid – disgust, she clapped her hands together and uttered a soft shriek. “Harry! I knew it would happen, I knew it!”

“Sorry, you knew what would happen?” Harry couldn’t begin to fathom where this reaction was coming from.

“You and men! You’re so sensitive, and kind, and you do tend to develop deeper friendships with them. Plus I always thought you had a thing for some of the Quidditch players you rolled with back in school. I knew you liked men too, I knew it.” She looked far too pleased with herself, and Harry felt a bit annoyed by it.

“Hermione, calm down. I didn’t have a thing for anyone back then, besides Cho and Ginny. This is a new development for me, I swear.”

Hermione’s eyes were still sparkling, but she nodded and stopped bouncing in her seat. “Go on then, tell me all about it.”

Harry cleared his throat. “Well, um, he’s very nice. A little hard to approach at first, but once you get to talking with him, he has a lot of interesting things to say. He knows London pretty well, and we went shopping the other day. He said I needed to upgrade my look.”

“I like him already, I’ve been telling you to overhaul your wardrobe for years.”

“Yeah, well, you’d be happy to see it now. I still haven’t gone through all my jumpers, scarves and socks from Mrs. Weasley though, I can’t bring myself to get rid of them. Anyway, he likes my cooking, and he doesn’t pressure me to drink. Alcohol, anyhow.”

“He sounds dreamy. Are you two – you know – intimate?

Harry’s hand had crept to the back of his neck, as if to stop the heat there from spreading forward to his face and ears. “Um, yes? A little?”

“That’s wonderful, as long as you’re being safe about it.” Harry wasn’t going to ask for more information, but she gave it to him anyway. “There should be all sorts of spells for protection against disease, not to mention charms for lubricating, stimulating, massaging... I can find you a book on it if you want.”

“Hermione! No, I don’t want a book! I’ve barely gotten the hang of kissing him, let alone all that other stuff you mentioned.” He was not going to mention their antics from earlier that afternoon, not if his life depended on it.

“Sorry.” Her look was sincere with a trace of amusement. “I just wanted to help, and make sure you’re safe while you discover more about this part of yourself. And, if you ever do need help, please don’t hesitate.”

Harry nodded. “Thanks. I really appreciate that you don’t seem to mind hearing about this.”

“Of course not! It must feel like such a big deal to share it at first, I can only imagine, and I’m honored that you told me. You don’t need to worry about any judgment from me. Or from any of your Wizarding friends, for that matter.” She looked a little embarrassed. “I probably shouldn’t say anything, but we’ve been speculating for a while that the next person you dated would be male.”

“What? Oh this is great, all my friends think I’m queer?”

“No, it’s not like that, Harry. The thing is, we couldn’t see how you could move on from someone like Ginny without wanting to try something completely different. Someone more under the radar. Not that there’s anything wrong with being over the radar about it! I’m sorry Harry, this is coming out all wrong.” She stopped herself and took a deep breath. “What I’m trying to say is, whether you want to express yourself as gay, or bisexual, or any other identity, we’re on your side.”

She was a little pink now, and possibly tearing up, although Harry couldn’t tell through the blurring of his own vision. Her words were like a much-needed balm upon a newly exposed wound that he didn’t even know he had until very recently.

They were silent for a moment, Harry taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose while he looked upward, and Hermione blowing her nose into a hanky.

“Thanks Hermione,” Harry was finally able to speak again. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

She smiled back at him. “I’d like to think I’m not that indispensable. But I really am, aren’t I.”

Harry laughed. “Always full of yourself, Ms. Granger.”

Their conversation had reached its natural end, and Harry was growing antsy about Draco. He had forgotten to check the skylight during their conversation, and with the sun nearly gone, he couldn’t see whether Draco was still inside.

“All right Hermione. It’s been great, I’m really glad we had this little chat. Catch you next week?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Harry.”

“Ta.” The shimmering aureole faded, and Harry was left alone in the deepening twilight.

~*~

When Harry climbed back down into his living room, turning on lamps as he went, Draco was awake and trying to figure out Harry’s electric teakettle. “How the hell do you make tea with this thing?”

“It might help if you plugged it in. Isn’t it a little late for tea though?”

“Not if we’re going out.”

Harry was uncertain about this idea. “Don’t you still work on weekends though?”

Draco gave up on fiddling with the teakettle for the moment and turned on Harry with a conspiratorial glint in his eye. “I think it might be time to call in sick, and have Harry Potter take care of me. Nurse me back to health.”

Harry’s heart fluttered in his chest, and he allowed himself to play along. “Why Draco, whatever is the matter?”

Draco took one of Harry’s hands and guided it to his cheek, reaching out to brush Harry’s cheek in a gestured echo. He couldn’t believe it had taken him this long to notice just how green his eyes were, or how delicately the scar on his forehead shone, even through the wayward fringe. He was, quite frankly, beautiful. “Everything is the matter. And nothing at all.”

Harry’s response was to close the distance and pull Draco into a long kiss. They fetched up against the wall, Draco’s arms providing support while his hands entwined themselves into Harry’s hair, the messiness of which no longer bothered him in the least. If he didn’t know better, he might think that he was falling in love with the Boy Who Lived.

The kiss ended with Harry’s knees considerably less reliable than before. “Well, if you would rather go out, I can think of a few pubs that have some fun things to do. Muggle games, and not video. Just old-fashioned board games, and cribbage, and the like.”

Draco pitied Harry’s lack of imagination and proposed something a little more exciting. “I’d like to take you out dancing.” Seeing Harry’s expression change toward dread, he followed up with some qualifiers. “Specifically, I’d like to rent a party boat and invite some Muggles I go clubbing with. We can have the time of our lives outside of the spotlight, and no one will judge us.”

Harry did not look any less cornered, so Draco decided to lower the stakes a little. “It doesn’t have to be tonight, of course. We can warm up to it, I have loads of records at my place. We can practice together.” He couldn’t resist reaching around and squeezing Harry’s backside for emphasis. “And no drinking, I promise.”

Harry grinned, relieved. “Well, that part I like the sound of. But really, have you seen me try to dance?”

“Not since the Yule Ball, no. But it doesn’t matter, you don’t have to be great at it to have fun moving to music. Here, let’s look some up on that webby thing you were telling me about.” He grabbed Harry’s hand and marched him back into the living room from the kitchen.

“It’s called the World Wide Web, Draco. I don’t have the greatest setup, maybe we can go back to your place instead.”

“All right, let’s go then.” Draco grabbed Harry’s other hand. “You can Apparate us, right?”

“Actually, I’d like to take the Tube with you. Show you how it works properly so you can use it yourself, rather than relying on your Muggle posse. Not that there’s anything wrong with relying on others.” Harry felt his foot plant itself firmly in his mouth for what seemed like the nineteenth time. “You know what I mean, right?”

Draco’s expression sharpened. “Yeah, I do. I just have to be particular about who I trust, and for what end.”

“Not necessarily. Sometimes you can give people a chance to show you how trustworthy they are.”

“Like now?” Draco’s fingers tightened around Harry’s, and he leaned in to breathe deeply from the place on Harry’s neck nestled between ear and jawbone, brushing his long eyelashes across Harry’s skin in the process. Far from feeling ticklish, Harry felt the now-familiar ache blooming below his ribcage, that he had learned to associate with Draco and his damnable magnetism.

“Let’s get going to your place first, and we can see how trusty we are when we get there.”

They tore away from each other reluctantly and began to gather up layers to face the chill outdoors.

~*~

The chill followed them through their journey across London, and seemed to have settled into Draco’s home once they arrived there. Besides getting held up at the turnstiles, Draco had done an admirable job of navigating, and Harry felt almost familial in his pride. _You’ve come a long way from looking down on Muggles and their inventions,_ Harry wanted to tell him, but contented himself with holding Draco’s hand while they sat in the train car.

“Why is it so bloody cold in here?” Draco complained when they had removed their outer layers and shoes in the hallway. He placed a hand on a wall device that Harry didn’t recognize. When he asked Draco about it, he explained that it was a Wizarding thermostat that read and adjusted to the occupant’s body heat, rather than predetermined settings that were not always accurate. “Based on how chilly my hands are, this place is about to get very warm indeed.”

Harry did notice a change in the air, and by time they reached the kitchen, he was almost sweating. “I guess you live up to the Slytherin reputation, eh? Cold-blooded and reptilian?”

Draco scoffed. “You should talk, I’ve never seen more scarf-wearing than among you Gryffindor lot. Or less taste in color coordination.”

Harry was beginning to notice that their banter hurt less than it might have in days past. Once upon a time, he would not have been as willing to overlook a slight to his House, but it seemed unimportant now. Was it just part of growing up, or was it a sign of their increasing compatibility?

“Come here, I have something I’d like you to try.” Draco opened the fridge and pulled out a bottled drink that was darker than Felici-Fizz. “It’s from one of Nigel’s many family ventures. Some arrangement they made with South American shamans.”

Harry sniffed suspiciously at the open bottle Draco handed to him. It smelled like cola with fruit. “What will it do to me?”

“Honestly, Harry, can’t you trust me for once?”

“After the Felici-Fizz, no.” He was only half-joking.

“Oh come off it, it didn’t affect you that much, did it? This drink’s different, it’s more for energy but without some of the nastier side effects of caffeine. Don’t ask me to say the name though, I have no idea how to pronounce it.”

Harry took a cautious sip, and found nothing to complain about. The cola fruit taste was off-set by a spice, perhaps cinnamon or a touch of nutmeg, and ended with a bitter note.

“With a little of this in you, we’ll be dancing all night long.” Draco backtracked when Harry glared at him. “Only if you want to, of course. But I would like to play some music for you.”

Harry pulled off his last remaining jumper and followed Draco to the den, adjusting his glasses. The soda was already beginning to work on him, if the intended effects were to sharpen his senses and make him feel more alert. “I think I like this better than the Felici-Fizz.” He didn’t like that they owed it to Nigel, though, something he would have rather died than admit out loud to Draco in that moment.

Draco was on a mission, and contrived to play something of everything. He had music from each decade, mostly from British and American artists, with a few wild cards thrown in. Harry put up with his ongoing commentary as he rotated out records, but by time they got to the end of the seventies, he was starting to get antsy. When Draco put on the Bee Gee’s “Staying Alive,” Harry couldn’t resist moving to the beat a little. Draco looked him over with amusement, then broke into a flowing sequence of movement that would have made Travolta’s jaw drop. It took some slow-dancing to “How Deep Is Your Love?” before Harry was able to recover.

“How on earth do you do that? Make it look so easy?” he murmured into Draco’s hair as they swayed in place.

“My mother insisted that I take dancing lessons as a child, in preparation for the Yule Ball, and any other social functions I might be required to attend. The disco moves I learned more recently, after I moved here. Turns out boredom and lack of real friends can be a motivator for picking up strange talents.”

“Well, I’m hardly complaining. That one move you did, with the side hip thing, made your arse look amazing.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, my arse always looks amazing.”

Harry snorted and brought his hands down to tickle Draco’s sides, but he was too quick and spun away. “Let me play you one more song, Harry, and then we can stop for a bit.”

As he switched records, he explained further. “The lyrics remind me a bit of you, they even mention your name.”

The song was Lou Reed’s “Satellite of Love,” and the tune, while gentle and meandering, lifted him up so that he felt less self-conscious. Harry laughed when Lou sang the line _I’ve been told that you’ve been bold with Harry, Mark and John,_ and even attempted a few twirls during the final chorus, bumping up against Draco breathless and giggling.

“All right, you win, dancing can be fun.” He bent over to catch his breath a little. “But I’m not ready to do it in public.”

“That’s quite all right, Harry. There are plenty of other things I’d rather be doing in private.”

The invitation was unmistakable. Even with their last encounter just hours before, Harry could feel the stir of erotic energy awakening within him once more. He wanted to do things that would erase the memory of Nigel and Draco together, and he wanted to do them immediately.

But their progress was slow. Draco seemed much more interested in teasing Harry this time around. He started by kissing Harry once on each eyelid, then very tenderly undressing them both, punctuating each removal with a new kiss until they were standing in a naked state of arousal before each other.

Harry refused to let him take off his glasses at first because he didn’t want to miss a second of Draco, only to discover that he wanted to tie a scarf around his eyes so that he could relax more fully into his other senses. “I promise I won’t do anything that might hurt,” Draco told him, “although some things might feel surprising. Just let me know if you ever get uncomfortable.”

Harry hesitated a little, and watched while Draco Summoned the scarf, made of a navy-blue silky material. If this wasn’t a test of faith, he didn’t know what it was. He reasoned with himself that if Draco really had any ill intentions, he wouldn’t have put up with Harry’s magical experimentation at his flat earlier that afternoon. “All right, I’ll give it a try. But I want you to know that I’m not trying it to prove anything.”

“Understood.” Draco was smiling impishly as he removed Harry’s glasses at last and wound the scarf around Harry’s head, covering his eyes completely. “Come on, let me take you to bed.” He took Harry by the hand and kissed it before leading him on a slow journey up the stairs. It was interrupted a bit on the landing, when Harry nearly tripped and Draco stepped in to catch him. “Easy there, Harry, I got you.” The feeling of Draco holding him close while blindfolded was almost too much to bear, and Harry contemplated jumping him and having it over with right there. But Draco boosted him back up, and they were on their way again.

The bedroom was much quieter than the rest of the house. “Silencing wards,” Draco told him when he asked. “I have trouble sleeping without them. The bed is straight ahead, why don’t you lie down on your front.”

Harry did so, tingling with the simultaneous feeling of pressure on his groin and Draco’s imagined gaze sweeping over his backside. The warmth of Draco’s body soon settled over Harry’s, and he thrilled at the sensation of him resting squarely on his sacrum.

“Hold still, I’m going to put something on your back.” The something turned out to be a cool liquid sensation of dripping – no, painting – across his shoulderblades. What was Draco doing? “I’m writing some runes in oil, runes of protection from disease and pain. And maybe some aphrodisiacs as well.” Draco’s voice had a husky edge to it, and Harry shivered in anticipation.

The weight on his lower back lifted, and Draco cleared his throat. “There, it’s done. Now roll over.”

Harry found himself obeying, even as he felt vaguely insulted at being commanded like a dog. Any protest he might have had died on his lips as he felt a familiar sensation of warmth and wetness surround his cock. Draco’s mouth undulated like a sea serpent upon him, and Harry couldn’t hold back groans of pleasure as the sensation carried on, relentlessly. Just when he thought he might be at the point of climax, Draco removed him from his mouth and slid himself up the length of Harry’s body till their hips aligned. He brought his lips to Harry’s ear and whispered, very low, “Do you trust me now?”

Harry nodded without knowing what exactly he was getting into, although he suspected it would feel incredible. “I trust you, Draco.”

Their kisses came hot and heavy now, rife with tongue and teeth and shimmering lust, and Harry’s hands found their way to Draco’s arse, which seemed made for him to hold on to. Draco’s kisses began to wander downward, and his hands wandered even lower until one encircled Harry’s cock and the other, with Harry’s permission, reached underneath to penetrate him with a well-lubricated finger.

The kisses moved on, from nipples to solar plexus down to the crest of his hipbones and the space below his navel, all while working his fingers on Harry both front and back. Harry had entered into a space of absolute bliss, all but forgetting that he was blindfolded as he coasted the waves that Draco brought forth with hands and mouth. The climax was upon him before he knew it, thundering through his body like a captive creature released from its pen. Harry cried out from it, his body bucking a little in Draco’s grasp.

Slowly, gradually, he swam back to consciousness. Draco removed the blindfold and handed Harry’s glasses back to him. The smirk on his face would have been annoying, except Harry was too blissed out to care. “Godric, that was – I don’t even have words for how fantastic that was.”

Draco shrugged, still smirking a little. “I’m just getting started – we're working our way up to better things.”

Harry couldn’t begin to picture what could be better than the last half hour, but he put it to the back of his mind when he remembered that Draco hadn’t had satisfaction yet. “Come here, you.” He made as if to kiss Draco, but the blond handed him the blindfold first. Harry tied it on him with trembling fingers. How could he hope to live up to Draco’s artistry, with the little experience he had?

As if he’d read Harry’s mind, Draco turned his blindfolded face toward him. “Don’t worry about impressing me, Harry, just go with whatever comes up in your mind. You can do anything you want.”

Just those words caused Harry to go hard again, and he allowed his imagination to run rampant. Draco was the one trembling before long, as Harry rained kisses and cast charm after charm that changed his touch alternately to cold, warm, and liquid. He seemed to get a particularly favorable reaction out of applying icy sensation to Draco’s nipples while pleasuring him with his mouth, and would have kept going to the end in that direction, except for Draco grabbing the back of his head and pulling him away. “Harry, I want to feel you inside me.”

Harry paused. “All – all right. How do you want me to do it?”

Draco pushed up his blindfold and lifted himself onto his elbows. “It’s pretty simple, just do what I did earlier with my finger, then add a couple more fingers and finish with your cock.” He smiled at Harry’s uncertainty. “Don’t worry, I keep things very clean down there. As long as you keep the lubrication coming, I’ll get off in no time. And you probably will too.”

Harry took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah, okay, I think I can do that. As long as you tell me if I’m doing anything wrong.”

Draco couldn’t resist rolling his eyes. “Harry, get over yourself. I’m really hot, you’re fucking gorgeous, and we’re both horny young men in our twenties. Besides, you’re protected by the runes I painted on your back, and so am I. I don’t think the stakes are very high.” He punctuated the rhyme by rolling over, leaving Harry to have his way with him.

It turned out that Draco was right. With the copious application of lubrication charms and a reinvigorated hard-on, Harry found himself staring down the barrel of impending release again in no time, especially after Draco began imploring him not to stop. As he jerked forward on his hands and knees, he could feel the rhythm of Draco topping himself off by hand underneath him. He choked out Harry’s name at the climax as if it were a powerful incantation, and Harry came again seconds later.

Harry shuddered at the residual heat wave that engulfed them both. They collapsed onto their sides in tandem, spooning on the sheets as they watched the tide of passion ebb away to a distant throbbing hum. The raggedness of their breathing slowed, and Harry’s thoughts turned toward the revelations of the day.

“Well, I guess I’m officially gay now,” he teased, his throat still raw.

Draco turned over to look at him, his mouth serious but his eyes playful. “Not until I’ve finished having my way with you,” he teased. “But I think we’ve reached our limit on this experiment of ours for today.”

Harry Summoned water for them both, and watched Draco’s throat as he drank greedily. “Did I do that?” he asked, bringing his fingers to the dark bruise that was coming out on Draco’s pale skin. “Sorry, I must have been more rough than I thought.”

Draco finished draining his glass, then turned a languid eye on Harry. “Believe me, I don’t mind it a little rough. I am a little surprised though, I thought you’d be a tame little cub in bed.” He adjusted his pillow and shifted closer to Harry. “Instead, I got a full-grown lion.”

Would the animal metaphors never end? Harry was going to say something snarky but let it go when Draco closed his eyes and rested his head on Harry’s shoulder. If anything, Draco reminded him more of a cat, while Harry felt – well, he didn’t know what animal he felt like at the moment. Possibly an otter who was ready for a nap after frolicking in the water for too long. The contemplation reminded him of a question he’d had about Draco for a while.

“Draco?”

“Mmm?”

“What’s your Patronus?”

The silence was so long that Harry wondered if he’d fallen asleep. “I know we were enemies while we were at Hogwarts, but I always wondered what it might be.”

Draco was awake, if begrudging his wakefulness. “I wouldn’t know, I never learned how to produce one.”

“What? You never learned how?” Harry’s astonishment made his voice climb an octave.

“Calm down, Harry, we’re not all Outstanding in Defense Against the Dark Arts. I still can’t believe you never sat your N.E.W.T.s, and they let you become an Auror and everything.”

“Right – sorry, I didn’t mean to rub it in. But really, I would have thought – you weren’t ever curious to find out what form your Patronus might take?”

“Not particularly. Why, what’s yours, a giant water buffalo?”

“Hardly. It’s a stag, although I suppose you got the hoof and horns part right.”

“Well, isn’t that perfect?” Draco purred. “Horny Potter.”

“Stop it.” Harry smiled at the innuendo, but he was beginning to feel deeply tired. “I think it turns that way because of my dad. He was an Animagus, you know.”

“Hmm. That’s sweet.” Draco’s eyes had closed again, one cheek nestled into his pillow.

“Draco, do you want me to go? I can head home if you’d rather sleep on your own tonight.” Harry began to move the bedclothes aside, but Draco’s hand stopped him.

“No Harry, you can stay.” His eyes were still closed, but Harry’s heart flipped a little at the invitation. “As long as you promise not to say anything to anyone about it.” He sniffed and yawned. “I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Right, that’s settled then. I’m just going to clean myself up a little, and then we’ll be off to dreamland. Together.”

Judging from the expression on his face, Draco was already there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the larger part of this chapter after listening to the Velvet Goldmine soundtrack for the millionth time, and before reading the most excellent Marauders epic All The Young Dudes by MsKingBean89, which goes on a much deeper odyssey into the music of the 1970s. If you’re not turned off by slow burn or Wolfstar fanfic, I can’t recommend it enough. Just bring tissues and be prepared to have your heart torn out of your chest more than once. It's probably the longest standalone fic I've ever read, but it's so worth it. (The author also wrote a few fluffier side stories, but I would start with ATYD before branching out).


	8. In which Harry has something to teach Draco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a hint of trouble in paradise for Draco and Harry. Draco’s Patronus is revealed.

_Something was missing, and Draco was doing his best to find it. His wardrobe looked the same as in waking life, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all wrong, that there was some crucial piece that he needed to find because his life depended on it. His hands scrabbled over soft chambrays and distressed leather, smooth silks and gauzy linen. The colors picked themselves out one by one, then faded into oblivion as Draco continued his search._

_“Malfoy.” The voice came from somewhere behind him, at the bedroom entrance. He paused in his frantic activity to look back over his shoulder, but the light shining through the doorway blinded him, and he could only see the subtle silhouette of whoever had spoken._

_“Go away, I’m busy,” he said. “I have to find –“_

_“MALFOY.” The voice was thundering now. “Let go of the search, it won’t make any difference in the outcome. Just turn toward the light and reflect it back.”_

_Draco squinted toward the light, and thought he saw a pair of horns rising out of it, spread like branches of a tree going in opposite directions. “Potter?” he called. “Is that you?”_

_There was no answer, but the light intensified, and the room began to fade away. Draco raised his arms to shield himself against the light that surrounded him, then became aware of a flickering presence at his feet and dropped down to his knees to find out what it was._

_It was a creature he had only seen at a remove, and never on dry land. Except the surface he knelt upon was no longer dry, and he found the laws of physics upending themselves around him as he began to float upward. The light shone on, tempered by the surrounding water, and Draco could feel the air escaping him as he struggled to stay conscious during his ascent._

_He began to kick, desperate to make it to the surface in time, and cried out for help from his new friend, who darted around him just out of reach. Draco’s scream came out in a flurry of bubbles, and he grasped at nothing while continuing to struggle upwards, ever upwards…._

“Draco!” Someone was shaking him, gently but insistently. His eyes snapped open and saw Harry’s face before him, his green eyes still muddy with sleep. “Wake up! You’re having a nightmare.”

Groggily, Draco looked around the room. Everything looked normal, with the obvious exception of Harry’s presence in his bed. The offending wardrobe stood meekly against one wall, and Draco felt his heartbeat start to slow with relief. He sighed out loud and put his head in his hands, cupping his palms against his closed eyes. “Gah. Too many dreams.”

“Anything worth sharing?” Harry’s voice was slightly hoarse, and he began stroking Draco’s hair like he would a favorite pet.

Draco thought for a moment, then told Harry about the small creature he’d encountered. “In my dream, I think my Patronus was – a carp.”

Harry’s mouth twitched, but he held his laughter in check. “You mean, like one of those colorful fish in a koi pond?”

“Yes. Only it wasn’t colorful, it was just glowing. It seemed friendly though.”

“Interesting.” Harry’s hand continued to stroke Draco’s hair, but his mind had gone elsewhere. Draco grew suddenly restless and sat up, kicking off the covers. He and Harry were still very much naked, but his appetite for fleshly delights had been derailed by the dream. Besides, his stomach was rumbling.

“You stay here, I’m going to get us some breakfast.” Draco pulled on a plush velvet robe and disappeared through the doorway to the landing. Harry was left to his musings about Draco’s Patronus, and the inklings of an idea that he wanted to share with Draco when he returned.

But first, food. The tray Draco brought was laden with sausage and eggs and tomato and crumpets and a pot of the strongest tea imaginable, couched in a tea cosy that looked like a –

“It’s a fish!” Harry was inordinately pleased with the quilted blue cosy’s form and how it complemented Draco’s dream. “Where on earth did you get this?”

“It was a gift. Bit silly, but I thought you might appreciate it.” Draco forked up a bite of sausage and munched with relish. “Merlin, I needed that.”

“Oi, save some for me.” Harry’s voice was indignant but when Draco looked at him, still munching away, he grinned slyly. “I can’t have you keeping all the sausage for yourself, you know.”

“Very funny, Potter.” Draco poured the tea and used the tongs to put sugar and lemon in his own cup. “Milk for you again?”

Harry nodded and accepted the cup Draco offered him. After a couple sips, he rearranged his seat on the bed and leaned forward. “I have an idea.”

“Hmmm?” Draco was still half reclined, nibbling at a well-buttered crumpet. “What’s that?”

“This Patronus thing. What if I taught you how to cast one, so we can find out for once and for all what form it would take? Plus of course it would be helpful for communication, or if you ever run into Dementors, once you can do magic again in public.”

Draco shivered involuntarily at the thought. “Not planning to run into them ever again, thanks. Isn’t it an enormously difficult spell?”

“It can be, but once you get the theory right, not necessarily. I can walk you through it. You would have to practice though.”

Draco was visited by an odd vision of fish swimming around the chandelier as he practiced in the downstairs hallway. “Erm, not sure how that would work. I haven’t learned any new magic in a while, I’d probably have to dig out my wand.”

“Dig it out? Where do you keep it, in one of your potted plants?” Harry, sniggering, avoided Draco’s lazy sideswipe. “Seriously though, we should find it. How much longer till your magic ban is over?”

Draco pretended to think about it. “I dunno, maybe three months? I’ll have to look at my calendar.”

“Why don’t you think about it while I look for your wand. Maybe it’s in your wardrobe, it’s certainly large enough to hide all sorts of things.”

Draco wondered if he should object, but the prospect of Harry tutoring him in powerful magic was appealing enough that he decided not to say anything. Instead, he rose from the bed and Levitated the tray out of the way while he straightened the covers. “I’m going to bathe first, but feel free to get started while I’m at it.” His eyes swept over Harry’s mostly naked body for one more heart-stopping moment before heading toward the loo.

~*~

Harry was aware of Draco’s gaze but was too absorbed in his new idea to take much notice. He gathered up a few more layers – it was getting chilly with nothing on except his underwear – and opened up the door to the wardrobe. The sight that greeted him was both impressive and intimidating.

 _How many clothes does one man need?_ Harry boggled to himself. _Apparently an infinite amount, if you’re rich and obsessed with fashion trends._ He didn’t dare try to rearrange the neat rows of trousers and shirts, hung according to color and material, choosing instead to shift them from side to side as he searched in the gloom. Grabbing his wand, he Lumosed while poking through militantly aligned ranks of shoes, and Levitated while prodding through stacks of jeans and drawers of socks, to no avail.

When he reached the side of the wardrobe that contained Draco’s dress robes, he paused. It seemed so long ago that he had last seen Draco dressed as a Wizard, sitting with his chin set at a defiant angle during his trial before the Wizengamot. The young man he knew now little resembled the boy he had known then, yet he felt a tenderness for them both that was unexpected in its intensity.

Shaking off the conflicting mental images, Harry searched through the robes by hand, feeling the pockets for any telltale stiffness. He found it in a set of deep purple robes, and drew out the wand with relief.

“You found it.” Draco had reemerged from his bath and stood behind Harry, wrapped in nothing but luxuriously fluffy towels around waist and shoulders. He looked almost gaunt with his hair still wet, the cut of his cheekbones more prominent than ever, but Harry was too elated with his discovery to notice. “Feel familiar?”

Harry looked at him in puzzlement, then gasped as the memories came flooding back. “Oh Godric.” He had forgotten the change of wands that had happened during the skirmish at Malfoy Manor, when Draco was still loyal to the Dark Lord. “That was stupid of me, what was I thinking?”

Draco resumed toweling his hair dry. “Honestly, I’d forgotten too, until I saw you hold it again. It feels like forever since all that took place.”

Harry held out the wand with a shaking hand. “Take it, please. I have no right.”

Draco finished toweling, then took the wand. It felt uncanny to him, like an old friend he hadn’t seen in a long time and who had changed drastically in his absence. “Ten inches, hawthorn, with a unicorn hair at its core,” he murmured, as if channeling Mr. Ollivander. He gave it an experimental flick.

Nothing happened, and Draco frowned. “Lumos,” he spoke clearly, and the wand finally responded with a weak glow of light at its tip. “I wonder if its allegiance is still to you, Harry.”

Thinking about it made his head hurt, so Harry put those thoughts aside and closed the wardrobe. “Let’s not do this right now, I’m sorry I brought it up.”

Draco acquiesced and put the wand aside in a drawer next to his bed. He was more interested in finding out what Harry had in store for him than he was willing to let on, but for now he would let it go.

~*~

It was as if their lusty encounters had opened up a whole new channel of communication between them. Draco found himself wanting to know more about Harry’s experience of living as a Muggle and as a reluctant celebrity. Harry, on the other hand, was surprised to find that he actually cared what Draco thought about things that were a bit beyond his understanding, such as art and music.

When it came to Wizarding topics, however, they were more circumspect with each other. Harry had backed off on his offer to teach Draco how to cast a Patronus, and Draco felt it wouldn’t be wise to push him on it. They went flying together a few more times – including one very memorable occasion when Draco’s hands wandered into Harry’s trousers mid-flight - but besides the occasional domestic charm, nothing further was said about magic.

On the nights when Harry slept over, they liked to take morning walks together in the park across the street after breakfast. Harry had hopes of convincing Draco to start running with him, once the weather grew warmer, but for the time being, he was content to amble along in the autumn chill, talking of this and that.

Their conversations took a darker turn as the news about the attack in the States continued to dominate the headlines, and more than once they started debating over whether Wizards should intervene.

“It’s simply not up to us to govern the Muggle world for them,” Draco insisted. “I may have given up on my family’s Pureblood views about interbreeding and taken an interest in the course of Muggle history, but I still don’t think that means we have to take responsibility for how they run their lives.”

“Draco, I can see where you're coming from, it’s just that I can’t help feeling empathy for them. Imagine what it must be like, to find out that your mum or your dad or your brother died in one of those towers. Wouldn’t you want to make the world a bit better for them?”

“You’re just saying that because you’ve got a hero complex. Why should I care about some distant group of Muggles and their problems? It doesn’t really affect me.”

This was usually the point when they agreed to disagree, but Harry felt like he had gone too far this time. “Draco Malfoy, I wish you’d listen to yourself more often. You can sound like a real arsehole sometimes.”

Draco was taken aback by Harry’s criticism, but had a quick retort. “Well you can be a right bell-end too. What about the time when you cast that slashing curse on me? Or when you stole my wand?”

Harry’s lips were a white line in his face. Draco felt sorry for bringing up such a sore point for Harry, but he wasn’t about to take an insult like that lying down. Instead of responding, Harry turned on his heel and resumed walking, his head bowed. Draco had to pick up his pace a little in order to keep up with him.

“Harry, don’t take it so much to heart. I wanted to be honest with you, is all.”

Harry stopped and turned on Draco. “Honest? You want honesty now?” He drew in a trembling breath. “I hate that I used that curse, and I hate that I can see the traces of a Dark Mark on your arm. I still have nightmares about that night on the tower, with you and Dumbledore, and I wish I’d never had to take your wand. But I can’t just brush it off like you. I don’t know how to do anything but feel the pain and go through it.”

“Brush it off? Is that what you think I did, after Dumbledore died and my family fell apart?”

“You might as well have, for all we knew of each other. Where were you when I was trying to hold it together, on the run looking for Horcruxes and watching my friends get murdered? Where were you, Draco?”

Draco was aghast to see that tears had started to spill from Harry’s eyes. Because it was Harry, he willed himself not to back away or make overly light of the situation, even if he wasn’t entirely in the wrong. “Harry…” he stretched out a hand… “I’m sorry.”

Harry sniffled and wiped one sleeve across his nose. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t know why you set me off like that, I’m not normally this way.”

Draco tentatively smiled at him. “You’re a bloody Gryffindor, of course your feelings are going to get riled up a little around me. I’m a Slytherin fiend, just look at my outfit.”

Harry stared, then chuckled weakly, to his great relief, and accepted Draco’s embrace. “You do look very green today,” he commented after a long moment had passed. “I like it though.” He fingered Draco’s thin scarf and twined his other hand through Draco’s, then leaned in for a kiss. Another male couple walking by with their dog whistled at them.

When the kiss was over, Draco locked eyes with Harry and told him what he had been wanting to say for several days. “I think it’s time for you to show me. How to cast a Patronus.”

~*~

Harry agreed, but only on the condition that he try to learn it without a wand first. “If it turns out to be too challenging, we can try it with your wand. But honestly, I don’t think it will be that hard for you, you’re a much more powerful Wizard than you let on.”

Draco did not have the same faith in his skills that Harry did, but he was willing to try. They started with the incantation. “You have to say it like you really mean it,” Harry said. “Not that you have to shout it out or anything, although that can help in some situations. I think we’re pretty safe here in your living room, so if you just say it firmly, while holding a happy memory in mind, that should be enough.”

Draco stretched out one hand and glared at his sofa. “Expecto Patronum.”

Nothing happened, and Harry advised him to be less angry about it. “You’re not trying to be forceful, just maintain focus and be in touch with yourself. Feel your inner confidence.”

 _He sounds like my therapist_ , Draco thought to himself, but he squared his feet and tried again. “Expecto Patronum!”

A glowing ball of light shot out of his palm, and Draco jumped in surprise. The light quickly dissolved into mid-air, and Draco turned astonished eyes on Harry, who was smiling.

“That’s it, you’ve got the beginnings of it,” Harry encouraged him. “Try it one more time.” He took Draco’s other hand to hold, and they faced the couch together.

“Expecto Patronum!” The light shot out again, but this time it didn’t vanish as quickly. It lingered for a couple minutes, floating like a mist through the doorway into the hall before fading into nothingness.

“You’re doing really great, Draco.” Harry’s expression was nothing short of beaming. “I think that’s plenty for today.”

Draco felt only a little pleased with himself. “What about the shape though, shouldn’t it be turning into an animal form? Or do I need to be under duress for that to happen?”

Harry shook his head slowly. “It doesn’t have to be in the presence of a threat, although I did learn it quickly that way myself when I got attacked by that boggart and Dementors in third year. When I taught it to my schoolmates in Dumbledore’s Army, most of them were in a safe place and didn’t have trouble with learning it, at least with wands.”

Draco nodded. “Fair enough. Let’s try it again later, your talk of Dementors is making me crave chocolate.”

He had an impressive collection of chocolates stored in the kitchen cupboard, courtesy of his mother. When they had sufficiently stuffed themselves, Harry asked a question that he had clearly been wanting to ask for a while, but felt too polite to bring up.

“Draco, what do you want to do with yourself, once you finish your Muggle immersion program?” He waved a half-eaten chocolate about, finishing the bite in his mouth before continuing. “Surely you don’t want to keep living here and working at Bedknobs.”

Draco didn’t have an answer to the question, but Harry’s quizzical look wouldn’t go away, so he made a stab at it. “I don’t really know, Harry. I do rather like it here in London, but it’s a lot harder to get away with magical activity in public. I suppose I will have to go back to the Manor eventually, get things sorted out with my parents.” He put the lid back on the box of chocolates. “I was working on getting their archive of ancient artifacts and documents organized before I moved here. Maybe I’ll finish that project up first.”

“What, like a librarian?” Harry was very interested to know more.

Draco squinted into the distance, considering. “More like a museum curator. Or a magical archivist.”

“I was hoping for librarian.” The look in his eyes was wicked when Draco turned his gaze back on him.

“Oh you were, were you?”

“With a pair of glasses and a necktie on? I’m all for it.”

“Well, let’s just see if we can do something about that.”

They could, and they did. The morning finished in a torrid haze, and they eventually collapsed onto the bed with their clothing mostly undone and Draco’s newly conjured glasses askew on his nose. The tie was long gone.

Harry was tracing the scar on his arm, and Draco winced at the memory of Harry’s earlier words. “You don’t have to do that if it bothers you.”

Harry looked genuinely taken by surprise. “It doesn’t. I mean, the idea behind it does bother me, but when I’m just touching you, it’s not a big deal.” He hesitated, and Draco sensed another question coming his way that he couldn’t duck. “When you got it, did it hurt?”

Draco’s laugh came out quickly, without humor. “Yeah, you could say that. I imagine it must be what getting branded feels like, or visiting a terrible tattoo artist.” His words rang hollow to him, and he tried to sound more sincere. “I didn’t really care at the time, I thought I was doing my family an honor by joining.”

“Family honor is really big with Malfoys, isn’t it.” Harry’s gaze was still fixed upon the scar, his fingers tracing automatically along the part that used to be a snake. “I can’t imagine being under that kind of pressure from my own parents, if they were still alive.”

“Yeah, well, look where my father ended up. I almost – “ he paused, struggling with himself – “I almost wish my father had just stayed there, in Azkaban. Rather than being beholden to the Dark Lord. At least he was still mostly proud of me back then, and could behave like a human being.”

Harry’s demeanor changed, and he sprang out of bed. “Draco, let’s try the spell again.”

Draco looked at him like he was crazy. “What, now? I’m barely even dressed.”

“Doesn’t matter. I think you should try it.” Harry extended a hand to pull him up to standing, and Draco took it reluctantly. He felt foolish with his shirt unbuttoned to his navel and his trousers off.

“Here, let me straighten you up a bit.” Harry worked some Poppins-level magic on him (Harry had also been educating him on classic Muggle films), and Draco felt better. “Now hold that happy memory about your father being proud of you, and concentrate on saying the incantation.”

Draco took a stance and breathed in slowly and deliberately. Stretching his hand out toward the opposite wall, he imagined his father’s face looking down on him with love instead of disappointment. He imagined being embraced by his mother, and felt a spark of warmth awaken in his chest. And he imagined Harry’s eyes looking at him with open admiration.

“Expecto Patronum!”

The light that shot out of his palm was small, and quick, undulating as if underwater. It darted away from him before he could get a good look at it, and he suddenly remembered that he didn’t need the glasses that were perched on his nose. Fumbling them off his face, he looked wildly around the room, seeking out the streak of silver he had produced.

Harry watched, delighted, as the Patronus circled back around in front of them and hovered at chest height. “Look,” he breathed, “you were right about your dream.”

The koi only lasted for a few minutes longer, but it was plenty of time for them to admire its delicate, fae-like beauty. Draco held on to Harry’s hand, unable to speak. The koi whisked forward in one last movement and dissolved into Draco’s chest, and he sighed, as if he’d been holding his breath.

Harry’s enthusiastic hug nearly knocked the wind back out of him. “See, I knew you had it in you!” The warmth of Harry’s body surrounding him brought forth an ache in Draco’s heart, and before he knew it, he was choking up a little. He rested his head on Harry’s shoulder and hoped he wouldn’t notice, but Harry was too perceptive.

“It’s okay, Draco. Just let it out if you need to.”

It only amounted to a single tear, but it was still progress for Draco. The last memory he had of crying was during their final year together at Hogwarts, at Dumbledore’s funeral. It would never have occurred to him that the next tear he shed would be in Harry Potter’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks for more excellent beta support from Kbrick. My memory of how the Patronus Charm works was a little foggy when I first wrote this chapter, and there may still be some aspects of it that are not strictly canon, but for the sake of story development between the characters I chose to leave it as it is. The same holds true for Draco’s wand. Also, I’m curious to see if anyone caught the BtVS Easter egg buried in one of Draco’s lines. :)


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